


Little Wing

by MU_I



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, BAMF McCree, Fluff and Angst, Hanzo is an adorable awkward little cupcake, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Jesse McCree, give him hugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-01-10 08:19:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12295152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MU_I/pseuds/MU_I
Summary: “Hey there buddy.”He howled a slew of curses as the tiny archer stared up, took one look at the rugged face cupped to the shadow of battered Stetson towered above them, petulantly curled petite fingers into tightened chubby fists and kicked him in the shin.Or Hanzo gets de-aged and McCree and the rest of the Overwatch crew have to deal with the consequences.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Something a little cuter than my normal stuff that I've been working on to balance the monstrosity that is Long Enough to be the Villain, which will probably see the next chapter released sometime in the coming hours. Future chapters will be much longer, this one's only a prologue of sorts.
> 
> And hey, if you ever wanna stop by and say hello, I just climbed out of the hole I've called home for the last six years and finally joined the society of tumblr http://mindlessthoughtsofawildmui.tumblr.com/

**The Beginning**

 

 

Jesse had just about had it up to here with long winded science gaga or the magical voodoo bullshit of whatever it was that kept a body still going after a solid bullet shot through the skull. Either way, he’d had enough of the mumbo jumbo to last at least the rest of this lifetime and the next. Unfortunately the universe, it appeared, didn’t seem to share his sentiment.

“Angie.” He frantically bleated the name into the device clenched in his palm. His voice grew in panic, mutters rising in their distress as he brayed into the static of his comm line. To his back the latest string of explosives popped merrily off – yet another unneeded reminder that he was currently in the middle of a war zone. He snarled as a line of bullets whizzed past his ear. He whipped, pulled Peacekeeper and shot once. The hail of fire cut abruptly off, the sound of a body hitting the dust following the round. “We have a problem.”

Weary tones crackled instantly into life, echoed to the familiar backing track of violence. The woman spoke quickly, her response spurred by the hint of pained worry lain beneath her tiredness. “What sort of problem?”

Jesse’s gaze wrenched back over the shock of shaggy ebony falling over pouted cherub pink lips, the mouth pushed open to little huffs of panic and widened eyes blinking on and off. His hands rubbed over his own eyes disbelievingly to confirm that yes, this really was happening. Talking space gorillas, giant pink mechas, two men brought back from the freaking entry line to Hell. He’d thought he’d seen it all, but this seriously not only took the cake, but ate it, stared at the empty plate and asked kindly for seconds.

He lifted eyes to the puffed cotton clouds dotting the chipper blue sky and scrubbed the back of his hand worriedly over his sweat dripped brow. “A large one, well, er a little one.” He amended poorly, helplessly staring back at the scene in front of him as if by some miracle in the past five seconds it had switched back to at least some semblance of normal. But of course it hadn't, that would be too easy, wouldn't it? And the world would end long before anything was ever easy in life for Jesse McCree.

He thanked every deity he didn’t believe in that whatever had happened, the silk costume had somehow remained intact, though what had once sternly gripped broadened muscle now hung baggily over chest, hips and legs to drag the ground, little stubs of arms comically poked out from the tidal wave of textile dwarfing the short form.

“Hold your position, I’ll be there soon.” The medic promised breathlessly, any further message cut off by another line of fire and a muffled Jack Morrison colourfully swearing in the background.

Jesse nodded dazedly before remembering that he was on the comm channel and couldn’t be seen. “Right, yes, soon, great.” He echoed absentmindedly. He breathed out breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding in a heavy sigh, scraping one hand frenziedly over the stubble pecking his muzzle.

He broke off from the action, stripping his hands to his knees as he bent, plastering forced cheerfulness over fretted anxiousness and flashing polished molars to offer what he hoped came across as a friendly grin.

“Hey there buddy.”  

He tried for an upbeat tone, though that was awful hard to achieve when speaking to a man who had previously stood nearly his full height but now barely came up past his knee.

He howled a slew of curses as the tiny archer stared up, took one look at the rugged face cupped to the shadow of battered Stetson towered above them, petulantly curled petite fingers into tightened chubby fists and with a look of steely determination, kicked him in the shin.


	2. Meet Your Team (Again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you people have been amazing so far. So amazing that you deserve another chapter. Now don't go getting used to this, updates will be at most once a week. It's just that I know there's a gap for the de-aged Hanzo that some people have been waiting a painfully long time to be filled (myself included), and only giving 607 words, that's just cruel.

**Meet Your Team (Again)**

 

Holding position, it turned out, was much easier said than done, mostly because every time he made to grab for the mini Hanzo, the child would let rip an ear shattering screech, demanding the ‘ruffian unhand him immediately’ as tiny but strong fists rained heavenly down, nails clawing long scratches over any flesh available.

He paused, huffing, to catch breath, before lunging once again for the child, only for the body to agilely twist to the side out of reach, figure a streaked blur as they nimbly darted through the space of his open legs.

His lips twisted to the shape of a pained oof as he stumbled blearily for balance, the sickened crunch ringing dully in his ears, the boy having followed up the dodge with a low leg swipe at his ankles. After the third viciously aimed kick to the shins it had become evident that just as body mass had been lost, so too had any memory of teammate.

Within moments into the fight, Jesse had withdrawn his earlier statement. Those weren’t the pouted, pink lips of any cherub he’d ever seen; they were the snarling, bloodied lines of the  _devil_.

Hanzo fought like a cornered animal, a flurry of limbs that attacked anything that moved towards him. Nails, feet, elbows, he used them all. The cheeky bugger even had the nerve to try and snap a bite after a hand got too near his mouth.

“For the love of- quit moving.” Jesse groused, growling as he snatched the boy up off the floor and dangled him in the air. Hanzo squirmed against his grip, kicking tiny little legs out against Jesse's belly. To his horror, the baggy material dripping in heavy cascades from Hanzo's shoulders form dangerously close to sliding off and-  **NO!**  Jesse very quickly slammed all brakes on that particular trainwreck of thought. An amnesiac Hanzo Shimada running around the battle field in nothing but his birthday suit was not something he ever wished to see, in mind or eye.

Blue veins twitched, bulging mottled cobalt into the coffee sheen. The face raised to Jesse's eye level twisting to an obnoxious sneer, Hanzo gnashing teeth together in feral snarl. “Let go of me  _peasant_ , are you honestly so ignorant to not know the name of Hanzo Shimada?”

“Yeah, I know the name.” Jesse angrily snapped, his patience wearing thin as a now oversized sandal slipped from the tiny foot and hurtled into his thigh. “Extremely well, unfortunately.”

Flailing legs stilled, match stick arms ceasing their attack on his elbow to fold defiantly into the child’s front. “Then you should know what happened to the last man who attempted to abduct the clan heir.” The boy lifted his chin, sneering down his nose contemptibly.

Jesse growled aloud in exasperation. “For the last time kid, I’m not trying to kidnap you. I’m your teammate.”

“A poor excuse any halfwit dunce born yesterday could come up with.” Hanzo sniped condescendingly.  “You will have to do better than that if you wish to fool a Shimada.”

“What if I said I knew your broth- ARGH!” Jesse dropped the boy, whipping his hand away as if burnt. He glared as the kid scrambled away. “What is it with you and the chomping?” He demanded, gingerly skimming a finger over the three newest gashes cleft through his wrist. “I’m a person, not a damn candy.”

“You are my attacker. I shall treat you accordingly.” The boy preened, puffing his chest proudly. The little shit wasn't even making an attempt to hide his smugness.

Jesse drew breath, forcing his temper to calm. He wouldn't get anywhere near the kid acting like a bull elephant released in a china shop. He drew his tongue warily over his lips, wincing as he found cold, metallic tang. “Well sorry kiddo," He grunted in tones that really wasn't very sorry at all. All sympathy had quickly faded, paling to memory in the face of cock sure attitude and one hell of panda eye. "You’re coming with me, one way or the other.”

The boy hucked up breath and spat angrily at the ground, the landed glob of spittle narrowly missing the leathered toe of tan boots. “I should like to see you try.”

 

Jesse leaned his head off the wall, a grin flickering over the tightened grimace as the five figures descended into view.

“What took you all so long?” He rasped playfully in between ragged gasps of breaths, hungrily chugged as if air were some new discovery he’d just stumbled on.

Beads of sweat caked his brow, the thick line of dew oddly cool to his face flamed a beaten lobster. His fingers sorrowfully slid over the remnants of his costume, the tatty strips barely held together. He leaned unsteadily off one leg, a purple welt of bruise already ballooned to the size of a golf ball on the knee of the other.

Behind him a red-faced Hanzo loudly screeched protest, chipped lips dribbling ooze in a haughty smirk. He gnashed his teeth, showing off the kind of razor points any self-respecting shark would be proud of. Jack noted the bleached needles were dyed an unnerving crimson. He made a mental note not to ask why, though did enjoy the sight, the effect giving the boy the appearance of a vampire caught an especially bad sun tan. The youth’s nails scraped the ground, arms pushed behind his back, as tiny legs pedalled, kicking up dust. Their heels scrambled, skidding over dirt, the child angrily huffing as he strained like a furious bull chomping at the bit against the binds tying his body to the post.

Angie was the first to speak, her mouth falling open at the sight of the bloodied cowboy.  She paled slightly, voicing the question that had flooded straight to the forefront of minds of all who had gathered. “What happened?”

What had happened? Jesse didn’t even know. One moment his back was taken by the hulking mountain of ripped muscles, the next a Talon agent had lucked a shot into the back of topknot, and the archer had tumbled, a blinding flash taking his body as the res system kicked in. But instead of the healthy, thirty something total hunk standing there when the glow faded, there was instead a mass of empty clothes and a six year old boy angrily glaring murder at the world where the man should have been.

An angry six year old boy with one mean roundhouse. Jesse withered, self-consciously rubbing the back of his still singing elbow. “Don’t wanna talk about it.” He muttered petulantly.

“Where is Hanzo? Where is my brother?” Genji demanded bluntly, his head desperately snapping from left to right in search of the elusive archer.

Lightheaded, or maybe that was the blood loss, Jesse took a step forward, revealing a better view of the boy attempting to worm his way out of the strips of silk lashing him to a fragmented door post. He made to take another and stumbled. Yep, a woozy giggle bubbled the back of his throat as he grinned to himself. Definitely the blood loss.

Jack choked, the breath catching in his throat. “Jesse, is that-“

A wince played Jesse’s features as he nursed his bleeding arm to his chest. His teeth gritted firmly together in a rueful grimace. “Yup.”

“ _Hanzo?”_ The group chorused together in disbelief.

 _“Brother?”_  Genji echoed incredulously, just a little behind.

“Yup.” Jesse repeated, nonplussed.

“Ermygosh he’s adorable.” Lena gushed, a dopey grin lighting her face as she leaned down, cooing simpered praises over the monster.

“Adorable?” Jesse repeated sceptically. His eyebrows shot up as he gaped. “You’re kidding, right? He’s the fucking devil!”

“Language!” Angie scolded, voicing soft, admonishing tuts beneath her breath.

“Oh please, he’s bloody thirty-eight!” Jesse roared in frustration, his temper flaring. “He can handle the f bomb!”

“Quiet Jesse, you’re scaring the poor love!” Lena chirped critically, spinning to waggle a finger at the man before returning her focus to fawning over the boy.

“He bit me!” Jesse protested, his voice rising indignantly.

“Well you probably deserved it.” Jack rumbled in his gravelly tone.

“Excuse me?” Jesse drew breath, bristling as he whirled to face the smirking agent. His hands flew to his hips as he cocked a brow. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“What are we going to do with him?” Genji hurriedly interrupted before Jesse could start shooting Jack with something other than a non-lethal glare.

”Darned if I know, just watch the mouth. Brat’s got vicious teeth.” Jesse warned, the lines of his face twitching as if he’d just swallowed some sour taste.

“We can’t leave him tied up here forever.” Winston finally spoke up from his stance at the back of the huddle, breaking his unusual silence.

“We can’t?” Jesse echoed, pouting in disappointment. “Cuz just saying, I’m A-okay with that.”

“Jesse!” Angie chided scathingly. “He’s a child.”

“Nu-uh. That,” he jabbed a bloody thumb at the brat. “Ain’t no child. That’s a demon crawled from the seventh circle of hell that looks like a child.”

“We will take him back to base. Maybe the medical lab will be able to shine some light on whatever has happened, and how to reverse it.” Winston growled decidedly.

“Then someone has to get him into the carrier.” Lena piped. Silence followed as all warily eyed the enraged boy who had fallen quiet to the attention, offering an unnerving grin of pulled back gums and bloody fangs.

"Oh no." Quick as a viper, Jesse held both his hands up in surrender. “Dibs not me.”

To his left, Genji sighed, his form slumping to defeat as he slunk forward, wearily raising an arm. “I volunteer. Perhaps he will react better to a familiar face.”

“Good on ya, bud.” Jesse heartily slapped the ninja on the back as he passed. “Best of luck, man.” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “You’re gonna need it.”

He watched him go with a sad smile, as if debating between red or blue flowers for funeral arrangements. The poor, self-sacrificing sucker of a tin man was going to get wrecked to scrap metal.

 

…

 

“ _Brother?”_

The younger, er elder, Shimada had not known what he had been expecting when Angela had alerted the team to something very wrong with the sharpshooter and his sibling. Whatever it had been, horrific injury, taxing enemy, in Hanzo’s case the dreaded development of emotional attachment. Either way, he had believed himself, as he ran frantic pace with the rest of the worrying group to the location McCree had last been spotted, to be ready for anything.

And yet the sight of a drained McCree looking as if he’d just gone ten rounds in the ring with a feral grizzly and behind him, a six year old version of his elder brother, had left Genji’s jaw dropped to the ground, his mouth moving uselessly up and down like some startled fish with words stubbornly refusing to come out.  

To say the cowboy looked awful would be like comparing a nuclear bomb to a party popper. His garb was near totally disintegrated, the exposed tanned flesh blossomed to angry purple swells. His face alone seemed to have been hit by a brick, run over by a truck only to be dragged to the other side of the road to be hit by another, much larger, truck. And then pushed off a cliff.

“Brother?” Hanzo gawped, an echo of Genji’s own earlier stupor. He was still staring, bugged eyes wrenching back and forth over the face, as they had been ever since Genji had slid the mask from his head. The startled expression soon recovered though, emotion schooling before eyes narrowed dangerously in suspicion. The bloodied mouth caved into a sullen pout. “How can this be, you are so  _tall_.”

“I am tall now, I know, but it is still me, look.” Genji coaxed, sighing. He knelt, taking the child’s hand into his own and lifting it to his head, running the younger’s fingers softly through his hair. “It is a long story, brother. Please, you must trust me.”

Hanzo eyed him doubtfully but did not rip his hand away. “You are Genji Shimada?”

Genji gave a gentle nod. “Yes.”

 “Prove it.” The child goaded, his eyes flashing dangerous challenge.

“When you were five I fell into the pond beside the sakura tree. The servants pulled me out but my heart stopped for five seconds. Mother resuscitated me, but after I became deathly afraid of water and was plagued by night terrors. You crawled into my bed every night seeking to comfort me for the next year.” Genji recited without skipping a beat.

Hanzo’s expression softened slightly. “Very well.” He announced haughtily. “I shall go with you. But first, remove these bonds.”

Genji smiled, thankful that he had been able to convince the boy. “Of course. And please know,” he murmured, as hands skilfully plucked the knots loose. “Jesse and the others can be trusted. They are good people. They will keep you safe.”

As soon as he was free, Hanzo darted forward, scrambling off after a vehement stomp to Genji's left foot. “I do not know how you came to know such a story, but you are not my brother, you are not Genji Shimad-argh!” Hanzo's rave descended into indignant squawks as the collar of his costume was caught and wrenched backwards. The boy's feet tripped off the train of oversized silk, a startled yelp escaping as he landed ungracefully in a tangled heap on the ground. “Unhand me, impersonator!” He yelled, cheeks puffing and hands batting off the fingers reaching for hold.

“I am sorry, brother.” Genji murmured softly as he lifted the thrashing child and threw him over his shoulder. “But this is for your own benefit.”

 

…

 

“He looks just like a kitten!” Lena trilled, giggling as the boy paused his writhing on Genji’s shoulder, his face twisted into a deeply set scowl.

Behind her, Jesse snorted. “Yeah, a feral wildcat kitten.”

She grinned, deciding that on return to the base, she was stealing the boy to her quarters and grabbing a spare camera. Scrapbook opportunities this good came up once in century, and though it was only July she could easily get started on the team Christmas card. She eyed the boy, wondering what it would take to get him in a furred onesie, flapped ears and reindeer antlers.  

“Oh Hana is just going to  _die_  when she sees him.” She simpered, adding a gleeful bound to the boringly simple routine of walking. Jack's head snapped up.

“Hana?” His voice descended into a strange gurgle. “You’re giving him to  _Hana?_ ”

“Well she and Lucio are the youngest.” Lena crossed her arms, defending stubbornly. “They’re the closest to his age now, so they’re the most likely to make him feel comfortable.”

“They’re also the most likely to push him to manslaughter.” Jack pointed out flatly. “Hana will take one look at the kid and we’ll never see him out of makeup and dress up costume again. If she even lets him out of her room that is.”

"Try and pull anything even remotely close to a makeover and I will  **disembowel** you." The boy promised, tone laced venomous. His expression as he returned to squirming on his  unwilling perch was less murderous and more genocidal. 

Lena remained silent, totally oblivious to the waves of sheer loathing rolling off the glaring captive playing mental pin cushion with her head. Her mouth split wide to a goofy grin. She ignored the threats, too busy trying to decide the perfect match of eye shadow to those pretty nutmeg rounds.

…

 

Angela sighed as she painted the last of the antiseptic over the man’s eyebrow. Genji hissed a wince as the cream slid over the ditch torn open above his eye.

“Sorry Ange,” A hand raked fretfully through the shock of emerald clipping his ears, the man offering a sheepish smile. “I did not expect him to be so unwilling, or so vicious.”

“No problem.” The medic breezed. “I have handled worse. You are lucky your armour protected you.” She grimaced; clucking her tongue as opposite Jesse flipped the bird. Skilful fingers tested the weight of the sling caging the elbow to the metallic front. She gently patted his other shoulder. “You’ll be fine in a few days, just stay off that arm until I can assure everything is still working properly.”

The Shimada’s grin brightened. “Thank you as always, good doctor. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

A thinned smile wrested the concentration from Angie’s face. She pushed a stray strand of caramel behind her ear. “Probably die.”

“Oh definitely.” Jesse chimed up happily. “My turn doc,” His face pushed into a kicked puppy pout as he swooned, a hand lifting over his forehead, in exaggerated distress. “I need healing.”

“It’s just a couple of scratches, Jesse. Don’t be such a baby.” Jack grumbled grumpily from his seat beside the cowboy.

“Nu-uh,” the American sang protest. “I’m dyiiiiing.” He threw his head back, dramatically clutching a fist over his heart. “Oooh the light, I can see it-“

“Good. Go towards it.”

Jesse’s grin collapsed as his face fell. “Aw sheesh gramps, you’re no fun.”

“Battles aren’t meant to be  _fun_ , Jesse.”

“And there we go again," the brunette complained. "Don’t smoke indoors,  _Jesse_. Don’t put forks in the microwave,  _Jesse_. Don’t have a life,  _Jesse_.”

“Enough, you two,” Angela snapped wearily at the bickering men who were behaving more immaturely than the six year old a metre away from them. “Jesse, I will treat your wounds when I have the proper equipment to be able, Jack, it is not  _just a few scratches_. He needs at least a dozen stitches, it is a wonder he is even still conscious.”

Worry crinkled her brow as she swept over the man before sliding her stare over to the boy stubbornly pressed into the furthest corner away from the group. Even with Jesse’s brief but more informative than nothing account, she had no idea what had happened to cause the archer to regress to such a state. Across the space, Hanzo caught her gaze, his glare intensifying, prompting another sigh to escape her lips as she looked reluctantly away, defeat flushing her cheeks a darkened scarlet.

Despite insisting he had no memory of the team or being anything past the age of six, the child wore a stern, matured expression, the eyes that had led her to find sudden interest in her lap were haunted to some terrifying ghost, the babyish face already aged to something well past anything of six years old.

Neither he nor Genji had ever been open about their raising, the two brothers stubbornly holding their silence on childhood as much as they did for anything else concerning their past. She didn’t know what had happened, but as she risked another furtive glance at the child rigidly leaned into the wall as if hoping to achieve alchemy and turn flesh to aeroplane, she only hoped she could fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a question or just want to drop by and say hello? http://mindlessthoughtsofawildmui.tumblr.com/ Chat's always open


	3. Living With the Monster

**Living With the Monster**

 

“Tell me you can fix it.” Jesse begged, swiping a hand anxiously over the brim of his hat as he stared pleadingly at the medic.

Angela’s face scrunched nervously. “I’m not sure. Everything is reading normal-“

“He’s fucking six Angie, that ain’t normal! And you,” Jesse turned to the thankfully full grown Shimada leaned into the wall of the medical bay opposite, as if hoping to fade into the bleach bone white. “Care to tell us how a child knows self-defence, or you know,” Jesse’s voice peaked and cracked, hysterical. “Is able to floor a grown man double their size before they even turn seven?”

“Our upbringing was…difficult.” Genji murmured cagily, guiltily looking away.

“We’re not trying to solve a cryptic crossword Genj, we need information.” Jesse snapped. His face jerked into a pained wince as the needle dug the thread into his flesh.

 Genji wrenched a hand over his muzzle, sighing. “He is not most six year olds.”

“Oh gee I never would have figured.” Jesse griped sarcastically, the sentence falling to a sharp hiss as Angie slipped the needle back out of his bicep. “That how he can speak full Shakespeare too?”

“Yes, as Shimadas we were expected to uphold the clan’s prestige. We were both pushed to excel at a young age. As the heir, father was always tougher on Hanzo. I did not learn proper English till seven. Hanzo was expected to speak it fluently from five. He was trained in self-defence since turning three.”

“What else we dealing with here, cuz so far his all-important holiness has been treating everyone like they’re his damn butlers with some sick kidnapping fetish, and I dunno about you but I sure ain’t up for ironing his majesty’s ye olde underpants.”

Genji blinked owlishly before bobbing his head in understanding. “He is well versed in most languages, speaking fluent English, Japanese, Mandarin, Spanish and Italian. Exceptional in all sports, and extremely paranoid.” Genji faltered, when he did speak his voice was small and rough, as if each word were stabbing through his tongue. “By this age he has already experienced fourteen attempts on his life.”

Jesse giggled bitterly. “So he thinks we’re all killers hired to off him?”

“Precisely.”

“Great. Just fucking great.”

“Language.” Jack suddenly sprung to life from his spot perched off the end of medical gurney.

“ _What?”_ Jesse squealed indignantly.

“What can we do, Doctor?” Winston, ever the voice of reason in the otherwise chaotic mess of disorganisation, interrupted.

“Until the matter has been fully resolved we must halt all agent activity.”

“ _What?”_ The group of previously silent gathered agents surrounding Jesse’s chair exploded, the seat’s occupant’s voice rising above, loudest of all.

“There will be no missions,” The medic continued grimly. “All agents are to stay inside the facility unless told otherwise.”

“Talon will be walking all over the world.” Jack protested.  “There’ll be no one to stop them, to save anyone, they’ll think we’re defeated, just like before-“ his voice fell silent, the unspoken _Switzerland_ hanging, dead weight in the air around them.

Angela remained respectfully quiet before resuming her speech. “We still do not know what went wrong with the system, and there is no concrete way of knowing it will not happen again. Does anyone else wish to relive their puberty?” No one spoke, even Jesse uncharacteristically silent as he found sudden interest in the tile beneath his spurs. “No? I did not think so.  As for what is wrong with Hanzo, that remains unseen. He is, for all intense and purposes, a healthy six year old. For now each of us shall take shifts looking after the child. Jack, you are up first.”

Jesse threw back his head and crowed, though his laughter cut abruptly off when Angie turned back to face him, her expression dead serious. “Jesse, you are up second.”

 

...

 

“Your turn.” Jack wearily jabbed a thumb in the direction of the archer’s room. Jesse’s eyes widened at the sight of bleeding burst lip and purplish knot hanging above the man’s right pupil. Despite the relative quiet of their surrounding, the soldier looked like he’d just stepped out of a war zone.

 “So he didn’t like the colouring books?”

“He tried to impale my eye with a crayon.” Jack ground flatly as he thundered past, unapologetic as their shoulders slammed.

Jesse gave a low, long drawn whistle of appreciation, shovelling his hands out of his pockets to offer them in a _what can you do_ motion. “Guess he’s the paint by numbers sort of guy then.”

Jack growled out a string of profanities – the kind that would make even a drunken sailor blush – angrily flipping the bird as he stalked off.

“Hey Jackie, we sure that’s a six year old and not the spawn of Satan?” Jesse called nervously after the hurriedly receding back of ’76 signature army jacket. “Cuz I dunno bout you but most kids that age watch Elmo.”

He sighed when the agent gave no response, leaving him alone in the corridor to worriedly eye the archer’s bedroom door. This was new and unchartered territory, he had never seen the room from anything but the outside – the agent had never allowed anyone inside his quarters since first taking the room as residence. He took a tentative step forward. How hard could it be?

 

...

 

Hanzo’s face set into a determined scowl. “No.”

“Come on,” Jesse wheedled for what felt like the thousandth time. Except it wasn’t. It was only the twenty-sixth. He’d counted. He eyed the door out of the corner of his eye in despair before forcing his concentration back to the child currently throwing a temper tantrum. “You might even like it.”

The boy settled back in his chair, haughtily glaring in an expression far too mature for a kid who barely came up to the table standing. Hanzo's legs now dangled into empty space, too far off to come even close to touching the floor. He sternly folded his arms over his chest.

“My meals are prepared by only the greatest of chefs with freshest of ingredients. I refuse to indulge in such _slop_.”

Jesse bit back an angered snarl, fighting the urge to leap forward and yank the boy’s face down into the very same ‘slop’ he was so against. “Geezo, it’s Chicken Pot Noodle, not poison kid.”

“It is slop ill befitting anyone of my level.” Hanzo batted back obnoxiously without missing a beat.

A slow grin settled over Jesse’s lips. “You really want me to feed it to you, huh brat?” He threatened.

Hanzo leaned forward in his seat and glared new death, his voice a dangerous hiss.

“If you favour both of your arms working, you will make no such attempt.”

Jesse leaned forward himself, meeting the glare and holding it.

“Challenge accepted.”

Ten minutes later, Jesse limped out the door, a hissing Hanzo, fresh noodley broth moustache staining his upper lip, still perched above his head on top of the kitchen cupboards like some deranged housecat with psychopathic tendencies. His stumbling feet staggered over the remains of shattered bowl lain in sorry fragments across the floor. His arm bent at a new angle, hanging limply as his sides. A grim smile decorated his lips, not quite reaching his eyes as he teetered painstakingly slowly past a stunned Lucio.

 _Worth it._  

 

...

 

All his research had stated the child would react positively to offers of confectionery and television. And yet the degressed agent had ignored the silver screen he’d been placed in front of and instead leapt forward, launching off all fours like a feral youngling, climbing the fur of his back and snapping the stretch of strawberry candy offered in peaceful truce into a noose around his throat.

With one hand Winston adjusted his glasses, plucking the youth off his back with the other, carefully holding the kicking and screaming bundle of cloth and skin away from his face by the scruff of its neck.

“No.” The gorilla reprimanded firmly. “We do not kill our work colleagues.”

“You are no colleague of mine, monkey.” Hanzo screeched, angrily spitting fire as he swung fists at the scientist’s muzzle.

“Come on young one,” He tried, desperately holding up a battered copy of Ice Age. The cowboy had assured him all children adored the movie beyond belief.

Hanzo stopped his struggles to take one look, the brow clipping a sneer, and flatly growled his favourite word, “No.”

Winston sighed, eyes escaping to the clock hung above the door. He sighed again, this time in defeated resignation. It would be a long three hours.

 

...

 

It was only a matter of time before the child made an escape attempt. Frankly, Jesse was surprised Hanzo hadn’t tried a re-enactment of Mission Impossible any sooner. He was the first to notice him missing; reluctantly turning up to the bedroom to report for his shift only to find the room empty and the young boy vanished.

Hours of frantic searching later, as he struggled down from the ladder, trying to hold a kicking Hanzo still in his arms, he fixed Angie with a stern glare. The blue of his forehead vein popped in time to his harshly gritted breath. “The fuck he even manage to get into the goddamn vents?”

The female offered a sympathetic shrug, cracking a watery smile as she patted him gently on the shoulder, wishing him the best and fled, low heeled pumps practically slipping over each other in their haste to beat a quick exit.

“Put me down this instant!” the miniature ranted, wailing in outrage. Jesse ducked his head left to avoid the tiny fist slugged his way, growling a “No can do bub.” As he threw the archer over one shoulder like a sack of squirming, sentient potatoes, and made off (with some difficulty due to the savage attempting to chew his ear off), keeping his face firmly neutral as he passed a snickering Soldier whose lips moved, mouthing something along the lines of _karma_ as he watched from the doorway. Jesse's ears - as of yet safely attached - burnt red as he hurried past.

 

...

 

By the end of the week the words ‘your turn’ had turned into a death sentence, each agent walking to their shift with the enthusiasm of a death row inmate walking to the electric chair. None were calling the cherub-faced boy adorable now, not after the little punk had pulled the same disappearing act eight times in the same day. Locked doors, vent grates, little Hanzo somehow got through them all. Very soon all on the team were begging Winston to invest agency funds in childlocks. The ape complied, setting the contraptions on each route of escape, but barely five minutes after installing the locks were broken and Hanzo was missing, again.

Jesse began pushing the idea of dog muzzles,he even found a nice little leather number complete with tinkly silver bell off the web that could be theirs within seven to eight working days. Half the team immediately rose up in dismay, arguing the solution _inhumane,_ with Jesse arguing right back – what was humane about the purpled bruises swollen to fat rounds lashing the skin over his wrist or the probably broken set of ribs searing spears off his sides after he’d had the shattered mirror while walking beneath a ladder and tripping over a black cat misfortune to pull bath time? (Nothing that’s what). The other half the team remained oddly silent in humourless agreement. But even Lena, the most vocal of protesters, stopped defending the brat after a particular run-in with furred antlered onesie had the little shit attempting to bite her fingers off. Only the other Shimada had any patience left for his smaller brother, and even that was fast wearing thin.

Genji’s eyes blinked tiredness from their edges, the lines of his shoulders slumping in defeat as his gaze toed the floor, a victorious Hanzo smugly grinning his win across the table.  

“Come on brother,” he coaxed as he pushed the bowl gently forward and offered the spoon – plastic, though still dangerous, they had learned what happened whenever the assassin got his hands on any solid stronger; the fat well of golfball off the back of Angie’s skull ensured that lesson was never forgotten. His brother made no move to take the invited eating utensil. “It is just a little chicken soup.”


	4. Kill Your Team (Again)

**Kill Your Team (Again)**

 

It took eight days for everything to go horrifically, horrendously wrong. That it took eight days was surprising. Jesse had bet good money on it taking under four. It was unsurprisingly during a training session. A training session with a furious Hanzo demanding that yes he was perfectly able to participate arguing, hands on hips as his little face blustered red, Jesse arguing right back that the boy could train when his feet could touch the floor off a high chair.

It was the seventieth no off the exhausted cowboy’s lips that did it. An enraged scream had tiny fingers stretching to draw the bow yanked off shoulders, the weapon laughably oversized at nearly twice the kid’s height. The laughter died, frozen dead on Jesse’s mouth as the rant welled into a foreign babble. His eyes bulged wide as the surroundings exploded cerulean blue, a hurried yell of warning from Genji off somewhere at his side rang in his ears as he lurched forward, grabbing the kid and pulling him down just in time as the twin dragons sped past, their roar deafening as they swept, a whisker away from clipping his left ear. Bodies scrambled out the way as the wall in front of them exploded in a kick-up of rubble and debris. The nearest slammed Hanna down square on the head and the girl dropped. A new flash of blue erupted as Lena blipped, leaping into existence to grab the teen before the second falling slab could crush her prone form like an unconscious defenceless bug.  

“No.” Jesse growled, hauling the boy up by his ear, not caring for the protests that reared at the action. He ignored the rabid growl, only lifting his arm higher, out of reach as feral teeth snapped for his elbow. “We do not give children weapons.” He snapped, glaring the fuming infant down. “We do not let them train. We do not summon our imaginary friends as makeshift demolition balls. And we do not, under any circumstance **, shoot at our team.** ”

Hanzo snarled in response, continuing to kick and yell, cussing him to who knows where, probably calling his grandmother a donkey-faced whore of an elephant in Japanese babble, but he quietened, stream silencing as a stern-faced Shimada strode over, expression murderous as he left a limping Angie’s side to storm closer, clipped tones brusquely informing “I’ll take it from here” as he yanked the sullen child away.

Jesse watched the pair curiously, eying their lips and straining his ears to catch stray titbits of floating conversation. He didn’t know exactly what the elder had said to his brother, but when the infant was brought back, a stony Genji glowering behind him as he propelled him forward, hand fixed tightly on the boy’s shoulders as he brought him shortly to a stop, the infant looked up at his captor, pulling a tight face and skidding heels over the mat before muttering a petulant “Sorry.”

Genji smiled, shoulders relaxing at the apology. He excused himself quickly, leaving Hanzo pushed into Jesse’s front to hurry off through the doors in the direction of the med bay. Jesse looked down at the sobered boy pressed half into his hip. He licked moisture to his dry lips, wondering what exactly to do with the boy.

“Are you going to hurt me?” The child whispered, voice strangely hoarse as Jesse led him into the corner.

“No.” he replied shortly, dropping his arm off the top knot and back to his side. “I want you to stay here and think about what you’ve done.”

Hanzo barked a laugh. “You think you can stop me? You are nothing.”

“You’re staying here kid, or else I’ll get your brother.”

The archer paled at that, glowering, but shut up. He hissed out a snarl, slumping to the floor, back against the wall, pulling his knees up and resting his head on the caps, hooded eyes glaring up to sparkle murder from their perch.

Jesse laughed bitterly to himself as he half staggered out of the room, the panel sliding shut behind him, the sulking boy disappearing from sight, realising that he had just put the Shimada heir into the equivalent of the Time Out Corner.

It was hours later after Jesse had slunk out the door, just free of his cornering from a smiling Jack Morrison that things got progressively more complicated. He cursed to himself - the elder watching him go with a toothy grin, smugly counting his winnings before dropping the fat wad of emerald into his breast pocket. He was on his way back to his quarters, wallet decidedly lighter and spirits decidedly heavier, was just in the process of passing the archer’s own bedroom when he heard the cries – the sounds muffled through the door, so quiet that only a trained ear could pick them up. Or someone with their own experience of making them.

It was easy enough to get into the room. Everyone on the team knew the combination code, by now so used to the owner’s escapist antics, though it changed on a by-day basis in the hopes of keeping its occupant locked in at least for a little while. The place was unnaturally dark, all the lamps shut decidedly off, though Jesse had worked the shadows long enough that the lack of lighting didn’t bother him, his sharpened eyes cutting through the dense ink well enough for his feet to avoid the dangers of strewn plastic forks and scraps of torn paper.

The boy was huddled into the top of the bed, covers clenched tightly around his form as his small body heaved, tossing to and fro, little keens whispering from chattering lips. Even in the pitch black Jesse could see the boy was sweating profusely, massive globs of crystal drool sticking over his brow and whitened cheeks. Jesse recognized the signs of a nightmare immediately, doubling his pace to sprint over to the boy. He ignored the clumsy punch sent his way as the bed’s occupant startled into action, swooping in to gather the child in his arms and press him into his chest, making soothing little sounds at the back of his throat and drawing wide circles onto skin until the boy had stilled.

“Have you come to laugh?” The boy croaked, thin voice barely a whisper as he shied away from the arms holding him. “To lord your victory in my weakness?”

Jesse numbly shook his head. “Everyone has bad dreams, kid. Nothing to laugh about in that.”

Hanzo sneered, an eyebrow jumping up to touch the creases newly etched into his forehead. “Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Jesse sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “That’s up to you, kid.” He paused and raised his own eyebrow. “You at least gonna tell me what it was about?”

Hanzo was silent a moment, so long that Jesse was sure an answer wasn’t coming. He was just about to give up when the child took a shaky breath, choking a little on air before eventually replying. “I lost control. Killed a man.”

Jesse swallowed, his throat suddenly too tight, threatening to close. He’d figured as much, moves that good didn’t just come naturally. Didn’t just go not taken advantage of either. But it felt different hearing the boy confess it from his own mouth. To know that a child had killed the same age he’d been running round the backyard, blowing bubbles out plastic tubes and laughing as his momma chased them. It hurt, a lot more than any bullet ever could hope to, and Jesse found himself holding the child a little tighter, as if hoping flesh and bone would be enough to shield innocence from the atrocities those blue eyes must have seen.

“Everyone here has done that too.”

“I have killed a lot of people.”

They both knew it wasn’t a question, but Jesse replied anyway. “Yes.” He murmured quietly, painting an extra-large circle onto the child’s back. “And I’m sorry for that.”

Hanzo let go of the breath he’d been holding, his tiny head bobbing as he nodded, once, shoulders trembling, as if he’d already known the answer. He blinked, fists rising to fiercely tug at the tears gathering in the edges of his eyes. “The green haired android. He is my brother, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

He reached again for the child, drawing him in close once more. This time the boy remained. He felt the shrunken body shiver as it threw itself further against him, burying gratefully into the warmth. “How did it happen?” The tiny voice whimpered through the darkness as a terrified face butted into his elbow, small and frighteningly vulnerable.

Jesse shushed and delicately petted trembling shoulder blades. “S’not my place to say. He’ll tell you when he’s ready to.” Jesse’s pained wince traded for a strained grimace as his hands descended lower down the boy’s back, smooth skin suddenly giving way to a patchwork of bumps and swells, the kind left by scars that would never properly heal and burnt singes never fully cooled.

“Your back, what happened?”

The archer’s trembles grew in frequency, his words catching in his throat. “My father is a cruel man.” He laughed, the sound flat. Almost dead. “You act surprised. Most children, they are not like me?”

“No, they are not. And I’m sorry for that too.”

“It is alright.” Hanzo admitted gruffly. He paused, suddenly growing thoughtful, before resuming speaking. When he did it was in the age old tone, more belonging to a war veteran than of any six year old. “You behave as if you know my mind. Do you have bad dreams cowboy?”

“Yes.” It was Jesse’s turn to pale and whisper.

“Will you tell me what they are of?” the boy pressed, pushing his body further into the adult’s.

“I killed a man.” Jesse confessed. His gut punched as his heart clawed its escape further up his throat.

“Oh.” Hanzo finished lamely.

“I killed a lot of men.” Jesse continued, stomach flipping as the words piled nausea into his mouth. “Bad men. Women and children too.” He added, feeling as if he was about to throw up.

“Oh.” Hanzo repeated dumbly. He shuffled his hands, trapping digits in cages before freeing them and starting over.

“Tell me cowboy.” His voice changed to a haughty demand. “Does it ever get easier? Does the burden ever go away?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He said a third time, voice a tinny warble.

Silence followed, strange and strained. Each shifted uncomfortably in their places, unsure how to tiptoe round the other.

“I like your hair like this.” Jesse commented suddenly, changing the topic and clinging to the first thing that stupidly fell out of his mouth.

“My hair?” the raven questioned, curiously touching a finger to his bun only to find it torn out of shape.

“Yeh,” Jesse grunted, voice thick as he stroked one of the long strand’s hanging loose at the boy’s jaw. “You should wear it loose more often.”

Hanzo offered a grunt that Jesse took as some kind of agreement. “Will you stay with me, cowboy?” the boy piped up abruptly, his hands scrabbling out the covers to possessively claim Jesse’s own.

“I got a name that ain’t cowboy kiddo. It’s Jesse by the way, if you didn’t bother to learn it.”

In the darkness Jesse could just about make out Hanzo’s flushed face, the child turning a burnt beet red as lips puckered, about to shout protest, before they collapsed back into an adorable pout. The kind that looked almost like a kicked puppy’s. “Will you stay with me then, Jesse?” the boy latched tiny fingers into Jesse’s wrists, tugging them closer towards his mouth. “Till I find sleep?”

“Long as you promise not to chew my fingers off.”   

Hanzo glared. He harrumphed, suddenly sounding insulted. “It is a promise then.” He growled shortly before his tone softened. He nuzzled his head into the adult’s shoulder, little fingers scratching at the ends of straggly grease shag. “I am sorry for trying to kill you, Jesse." The boy confessed. Sounded like he meant it too. "And Jesse?"

"Mhmm?" Jesse inched his face ever so slightly to the side so as not to disturb the child jammed into his side. The nest of ebony chaos shivered, the head pushing further up into him as legs folded up, knees gently curling to knock against his hips.

"Goodnight."

Jesse blinked, a soft smile doting his features as he drew the abandoned covers up to the boy’s neck, taking a tiny fist and squeezing it reassuringly in his own. “Night night Hanny.”


	5. Prank Your Team

**Prank Your Team**  

 

The next day Lena collected her jaw off the floor as Hanzo slid from the table and trotted up to her, empty bowl surrendered in front of him, the sweetest smile she’d ever seen the archer give (she hadn’t known the stoic assassin and his stiff upper lip knew the definition of the word) decorating his lips as he politely thanked her for the meal, tiny fingers clutched round the rim’s sides as he sweetly inquired “Please Miss Oxton, may I have some more?”

The docile boy peering up from behind loose bangs was nothing like the feral wolf child who only yesterday had taken her near two hours to seat and an extra thirty minutes after before he even considered allowing the so-called ‘tasteless mush fit only for peasants’ within a metre of his mouth.

“O-of course.” She stuttered, blinking twice, the dazed reply ringing in her eyes as she turned her back, fully expecting an attack (or at least an attempt to leap onto her back and strangle her throat with whatever material he had somehow gathered in the five seconds unsupervised) only for none to come. Rather he stayed perfectly where he was, and she was allowed to scoop the ladle into the bowl to once again fill it up undisturbed, handing it back still lost in a stupor. She watched in amazement as the child waited patiently (rather than bolting for the door the moment her back so much as started turning), took the bowl (rather than attempting to throw the scalding hot liquid back in her face) and returned to his seat (rather than kneeing her in the gut and making a second go for the door).

She decided to risk giving the boy a spoon rather than having him raise the bowl to his mouth. Plastic, of course, but the implement could still be broken in two and driven through soft, squishy flesh. As Jack had unfortunately found out on his first feeding time.

“Thank you Miss Oxton.” Came the polite reply. And when she handed it to him he didn’t even try to stab it through her eye.

“It’s a miracle,” She whispered later that day as Angela joined her, the two of them leaning their backs off the kitchen counter as they took soft sips from matching checkerboard coffee mugs.

“No,” the doctor smiled warmly, tucking a stray strand of caramel behind her ear as her eyes fell to the outline of a slumbering Hanzo bundled up in the folds of a red horse blanket and curled into McCree’s lap on the couch a metre away. As if sensing the attention the young boy’s weight shifted, his body stretching out a little longer to drape over the cowboy’s knees like an especially possessive house cat. In front of the two the tv blared softly, tinny music strumming up as the credits for Ice Age 5 began (Five? Since when had they made a fourth one?), just starting their roll.

The blonde’s smile widened, her eyes a bright glow as she softly murmured, “It’s Jesse.”

…

It quickly became obvious Hanzo had a favourite. To say that he had a little bit of obsession for McCree would say Titanic was a little bit of a tragedy or Blackwatch had only been a little bit illegal. He stuck determinedly to the cowboy’s leg like a limpet, small face peering out from behind leather covered shins, a slither of the rabid being from before emerging when anyone other than Jesse attempted to peel him away. Paper scrawls of dragons and kanji that Genji had elected not to translate – blushing before scooping them into his arms and hurrying to find an incinerator – had become horses, cowboy hats and (the probably healthy for a six year old) extremely detailed versions of Peacekeeper. The gun, like its owner had somehow managed to completely enrapture the child, to the point that Jesse would often find it missing off his belt. He’d then have roughly ten minutes to find the boy before facing the wrath of an angered Angela who had adamantly banned the weapon from Hanzo’s toy collection after walking in once on the kid taking training pot-shots in the kitchen at strung up saucepans.

He often ditched his current sitter, slipping away unnoticed only to be found after a frantically sprinted lap of the base curled up in a blanket burrito on the gunslinger’s bed. After the fourth time they’d pulled him from the wardrobe selection of chaps and spurs, dragging him from the room after Jesse telling the boy for a solid five minutes that he wouldn't be finding Narnia then or any other attempt (something Genji found rather odd since what more could be found in the back of a closet other than clothes and wood?), the shooter’s bedroom had become the first place to check when the child inevitably went missing.

Hanzo had also taken to stealing into Jesse’s room at night and sleeping with the adult. Winston installed new security on the man’s door but this was quickly removed after he woke the next morning to find the locks shattered and the next month or so’s supply of peanut butter stolen from the fridge.

Genji was next to try his luck, sitting his brother down and trying to explain the adult needed at least some time to himself.

“Grownups need privacy.” He explained softly as he patted his brother gently on the shoulder. “A time to themselves when they are not to be bothered by the worry of small children.”

Hanzo nodded his tiny head but remained silent, narrowed eyes glimmering something fierce as little hands curled into fists and clutched blankets tighter.

The next morning Genji raked hands through his hair, spreading white gloop into a lather. He lifted his hands off, about to box them over his ears, only to find he couldn’t, the fingers and palms remaining rigidly against his head. He yanked at the limbs, only to find them resolutely clinging to the emerald waves. They were quite stuck. Ten minutes sleuthing and the reason was revealed. Someone had come in the night and slyly swapped his shampoo with super glue.

Any attempts to separate the two were quickly ditched after that, with none of the team wanting to incur the wrath of the little devil who could, they knew, quite easily, slit all their throats in their sleep.

…

“Okay Hanny, in five, four, three, two, one, go, go, go!” Jesse whispered, rapidly signing gestures with his hands as he pushed his head round the corner, peering down the corridor as Jack turned left, disappearing round the bend. The boy pressed into the wall opposite mutedly nodded his head, expression determined as he bolted forward, his tiny body slipping through the door before it could fully slide close.    

Jesse counted the minutes in his head, fingers gently tapping out the time they had left in morse through the wall to the kid still inside. He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. Since That Night Hanzo had developed a new intimacy to him, and he couldn’t lie, he was starting to grow a soft spot for the young archer. It was hard not to find the baleful, dinnerplate-sized eyes and pouting, pushed out bottom lip endearing. And the tyke was one hell of a trickster. Finally, there was someone else asides from him who could have  _fun._ And sure, maybe at the start Hanzo’s idea of revenge had been decapitation and hoisting the severed head on a pike outside headquarters for all the world to fear (after a rigorous scalping, of course) but Jesse had quickly silenced any of those notions. And once introduced to the jester’s court the kid was a natural. All the watchtower had learned to fear the dastardly duo ever since they had teamed up. Hacking Genji’s laptop and turning the screensaver to a slideshow of Angela’s holiday snaps (including one very saucy number of on beach and in bikini). Recalibrating Lena’s chronal accelerator to next time she blink dump her in the tower’s training pool, clothes and all, with motion activated cameras set up to record the whole thing. They’d pulled some great pranks in the past couple of days, but this was to be their greatest yet. Chaos on an unprecedented level. A whole night of tricks to hit each and every agent in the one night, be it a classic like the never gets old buckets of paint set up on doors to fall on heads (only this time with the added twist of glitter mixed in superglue) or something a little more…specific.

 _One more minute_ he tapped out, panic fleeting as he peeped back down the hall, fully expecting to find himself nose to nose with a raging Jack Morrison.

 _Found it_ Hanzo tapped back, only to reappear no less than five seconds later, tiny face glowing to a triumphant beam, the soldier’s pulse rifle clutched to his chest.

Jesse shot finger guns, mouthing pews before catching the boy’s free hand and pulling him away from the crime scene. “Come on sugar, lets split.”

…

“This really ain’t necessary.” He complained gruffly, eying the tiny figure who had set up shop as near to the door as possible, which just so happened to be the very top of his bookcase. He stared disbelievingly at the six year old who had scaled the structure as soon as he had entered, hand and feet working over themselves so skilfully the youth may well have just been walking up and filmed on the wrong camera angle.

“Of course it is.” Hanzo shot back with a reproachful glare towards the door. “Once they wake they to our handiwork they will be furious. You will need protection.”

“I don’t need protection.” Jesse muttered, repeating the same argument he’d made when it had become clear the archer’s mind was set. “Specially not from some kid that ain’t even up to my knees. ‘sides, what are you gonna do, jump on top and bite their heads off?”

“I’m very skilled in strangulation.” Hanzo paused. “Or dismemberment.”

Jesse’s eyes boggled as he gawked at the kid,  _six year old kid_ , bragging about murder. Issues. He shook his head. That family had issues he wouldn’t normally touch, not even with some ten foot long dismembered limb. God’s sake he wasn’t some therapist in a spinning chair that offered candy and sat there listening to people’s problems. He wasn’t qualified for this, in fact he was pretty sure being a black-listed, ex-murdering gang member turned hitman for hire turned semi-respectable sharpshooter made him the opposite of qualified to helping kids with their parenting issues. And yet he hadn’t properly tried to shake the kid. Hell, he’d even developed an attachment to the brat

In all honesty he had a hard time believing growing up Hanzo had ever had anything even close to a childhood. This time round, he was determined to give him one.

“You don’t have to stay up there, y’know.” He patted the bed covers beside him. “I’m sure you’ll be perfectly capable of protecting me right here.”

Hanzo snorted through his nose, giggling as if Jesse had just suggested the world was flat. It was one of the rare times Jesse had heard the archer laugh. Ever. The sound was innocent and child-like, a bubble of warmth almost musical in its soft tone. Jesse found himself wishing that he'd heard it more.

“The sight lines from that position are hardly optimal. I am in a much better advantage right where I am.”

Jesse’s eye ran up the ledge, his lips quirking a smile at the corners as he appraised the hard wood. “Well it can’t be very comfortable.”

“Comfort is of no matter in comparison to safety.” Hanzo muttered stubbornly.

“Do you at least want a pillow?” Jesse asked quietly, tracing the shape of Hanzo’s crouched lithe form, cat-like curves just visible through the darkness.

Silence followed, before eventually a soft but begrudging “That would be nice,” floated down.

“Thank you.” Hanzo murmured, small hands easily catching the thrown cushion, a grateful sigh accompanying the quiet whumph of pillow flattening against the wall.

Jesse grinned as he turned on his side, drawing the bed covers up to his neck.

“Nanite Hanny.”

“Goodnight Jesse.”  

…

Jesse grinned as he came awake to Winston’s angry roar, the sound reverberating down the hall, ripping through the walls and so loud it caused the entire building’s structure to shudder. Now that was one angry monkey.

He stretched, yawning happily.

“Come on Hanny.” His smile stretched wider as he gently nudged the boy lain into his side awake. At some point Hanzo must have given into his tiredness and climbed down and into the bed, drawing the covers up and snuggling his face into the small of his back, latching arms around his waist like Jesse was his own personal teddy bear.

 “Time to see the good work.”

Hanzo snorted, serious faced even as he rubbed golden crusts of sleep from his eyes. “I advise laying low.”

Jesse’s eyes sparkled as his lips parted in a cocky grin. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

“I give it three minutes before we are run from the room.”

Jesse waved a hand in dismissal. “They can take a joke. We’re all adults here. Except uh.” He paused, trailing off awkwardly.

“Two minutes.” Hanzo rolled his eyes but didn’t argue further.

…

“Morning guys,” Jesse called cheerily as he entered the kitchen, Hanzo remaining stuck to his front, glaring daggers at anyone who dared look. His grin widened as he found a weary-faced Angela slumped over in her seat.

“Morning doc, aren’t you looking devilish today.” he greeted, barely holding back a snicker as the blonde turned her head. The movement would have dislodged the two horns poking from out of her hair, had someone not so thoughtfully duct-taped the two in place. She raised a perfectly shaped brow. “Jesse, I would hope you had nothing to do with this.”

Across the table, Winston rumbled his agreement, narrowed eyes glaring murder as neon pink glitter covered thumbs rubbed over the two circles of ink marker ringing them.

“Need. Coffee.” Lena moaned, suddenly blinking into existence and trudging over to where the pot sat on the counter, dripping wet clothes leaving a trail of water running after her.

“Lena!” Hana happily chirped, bouncing into the room before the brunette had even had chance to start stirring the pot. Jesse had the largest suspicion the girl had placed gps trackers on all of them. “It’s huge!” the girl, apparently oblivious to the bunny ear headband perched on her head and matching teeth drawn over her mouth, excitedly chattered, lifting the laptop clutched in her arms for the agent to see. “You’re viral! Over 2 million views and counting!” She gave a triumphant squeal, the sound just audible over the splash of water and shocked female scream that floated off the speakers.

“MCCREE!” Jack thundered, bursting into the room, face puffed red to anger as he angrily huffed breath like a raging bull with its tail on fire. “I’m going to haul that slacking, lazy, no good behind of yours down to training and use your face as my personal target practice.” The soldier growled, striding forward in dangerous steps, until the barrel of the nerf gun was poking squarely into the end of Jesse’s nose.

“Now Jack, let’s be civil here.” Jesse offered a dog-eared grin, holding both his hands up in surrender. Hanzo gave an enraged shriek, the boy practically vibrating against Jesse’s legs as he quivered in anger. “Why don’t we take a nice deep breath and just calm down-“

“UNCOOL MAN!” Jesse blanched as he was cut off by Lucio. A furious Lucio glaring genocidal murder as he dangled the ends of headphones in tightly coiled fists. “All I want is decent tunes and I wake up to this,” he growled, scowling as he lifted the buds, the tinny melody of Cotton Eye Joe fading out as it came to a close, before growing in volume as the song started anew.

“Eheh.” Jesse shifted on the balls of his feet, scrubbing the back of his neck as he gave an awkward but hopefully endearing shrug. “Thought you might like a change of pace?”

“My sick beats.” The healer moaned mournfully. “They’re all  _gone_.”

“Training room. Personal practice.” Jack snarled, finger tightening over the nerf gun’s trigger. “Now.”

“Coffee.” Lena repeated, a tiny groan escaping her lips as the puddle around her feet grew into a miniature lake.

“2.5million!” Across the room Hana’s fist punched the air as she screeched excitedly.

" _ **Jesse**._ " Winston and Angela growled at the same time.

Jesse’s eyes trailed down to the raven still pressed flush against him, one hand slipping down to find the tiny fist and curl around it.

“Okay, I can tell we ain’t wanted here so me and the kid’ll just be going now…” he laughed, backing away slowly. “So if you’ll just excuse us-“ He paused to give a quick bow to the room, one hand rising and tipping an imaginary hat before he whirled on his heel and dashed out the door. Jack snarled and made to leap forward but Jesse was faster; he flashed a toothy grin as he ducked out of the way of the swipe, just narrowly avoiding the soldier's hands, the fingers opened to grab and close around his neck.

He nearly stumbled over his feet as he sprinted, pulling Hanzo along with him, the youth giving a shit-eating smirk as he smugly informed, “Two minutes exactly.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “S’not running away kid. S’called a tactical retreat!”


	6. Love Your Team, Leave Your Team

**Love Your Team, Leave Your Team**

 

“You do not like me,” the child asserted bluntly, appearing absolutely tiny – tinier – in the wake of the double bed he was perched off the edge of.

“No.” Jack replied shortly without looking up from his pulse rifle. He growled, muttering death threats to Jesse as he swabbed the rag over yet another pink glitter paint stain. He didn’t think he could dislike the American any more than he already did but the bastard had gone and proven that entirely wrong. In the last few days McCree had rocketed to the top of Jack’s black book but now his name was well and truly on Jack’s murder list. Or accidentally-totally-on-purpose shoot in the field list. It was far too easy to sneak up on his colleague; simply follow the trail of bodies, clunk of spurs and gruff yells of "bang-bang!". Because of course the grown adult couldn't fire his weapon normally - silently, like the rest of them. It would be even easier to shoot him and blame the death on Talon. The others would believe it – Jesse was hardly the most inconspicuous of their ragtag crew. In fact it was fair to say the agent was the very definition of conspicuous. He stood out like a sore thumb with another, smaller sore thumb on top of that sore thumb wearing a weathered old Stetson over an even tinier sore thumb. What McCree’s idea of ‘stealth’ construed of, Jack didn’t know and he didn’t want to know.

He was currently far too busy with trying not to blast a hole in his wall. As well as tune out his uninvited and unwanted visitor. He really was going to kill that man.

McCree (hereby demoted to ‘The asshole’) had made to hand his weapon over but instead when Jack reached to take it Jesse had shoved a much smaller hand into his own.

Jack’s rifle had been (finally) thrust back into his possession, the asshole using the moment to turn and run away.

 _“I need to see Angie bout something. Don’t kill the kid while I’m gone!”_ The asshole had hollered over one shoulder, already hotfooting it down the hallway.

“This is going to be as enjoyable for you as it is for me.” Hanzo had promised with a venomous look as he yanked his hand away, wiping it over his jacket as if Jack were some disease he didn’t want to catch.

Jack had looked forlornly down the corridor, hoping for some miraculous saviour to appear in the form of Genji, Lena or some other unlucky poor sod he could pawn the brat off on.  

He was the one out of luck, however; despite his best prayers the hallway remained empty. Which was how Jack had found himself the reluctant new owner of their miniaturised archer.

“I do not like you much either.” Hanzo continued.

Jack blinked as something solid hit him in the face, bringing him crashing back to the present.

“It is rude not to look when someone is talking to you.” Hanzo sneered, one hand already reaching for another pillow. “You are not at all like the others. They have manners. I do not like you at all.”

“Never would have figured.” Jack snarled, making a point of standing, picking up his chair, turning it away from the archer and sitting back down. He returned to his rifle, sweeping the rag over the weapon’s spine, enjoying the quiet when-

“What is this?” Hanzo piped up, breaking the silence and sinking the last shreds of Jack’s hope for peace.

“No touching my stuff.” He hissed, trying to decide whether he would more enjoy Jesse’s dismemberment or decapitation.

Hanzo huffed, clunking whatever he’d picked up back down loudly in its original place. Loudly. Far too loudly to be anything other than on purpose. Jack had seen the Shimada as a grown man silently run up walls and steal across the kitchen’s creaking floorboards quieter than a cat whenever he wanted to raid the base’s food supplies. The little brat was doing this to annoy him.

“What’s this?” Hanzo repeated, presumably having picked up some new object of fascination.

“Stuff. Don’t touch.” Jack growled through gritted teeth. His fingers were inches from his pulse rifle’s trigger, but he doubted Angela would look kindly if he dragged the six year old’s smoking remains into medical.

Again the new object was put down. Again another was picked up.

“What’s this?”

Patience worn well and truly thin, Jack whipped, whirling round to see that Hanzo had moved from the end to the side of the bed, his tiny frame teetering over the chasm that ran between bed and bedside cabinet. One of the hands that had been fisted into the covers was now knuckling a grip on the mattress edge while the other stretched to reach for the new interest. Hanzo smiled triumphantly as he noticed his audience, shifting forward slightly to point curiously at a glass frame sat on the cabinet’s centre.

“It’s a photograph. It’s very obviously a photograph.” Jack grouched frostily.

“Who’s it of?”

“No one.” Jack snapped. “And didn’t I tell you not to touch my stuff?” He snarled, leaping from his seat and snatching up the frame before the boy could properly pick it up.

“It’s not of no one. There are three people there.” Hanzo pointed out far too smugly.  “Jesse says you shouldn’t tell lies.” He added.

“Jesse says the moon is made of cheese. Do you listen to that too?” Jack muttered darkly, wondering whether it was socially acceptable to use the little bugger as shooting practice under the name of tag. Probably not, he thought mournfully. That would be too much fun. And fun it seemed, was something he wasn't allowed to have.   

“Jesse doesn’t say that, he says a rabbit lives there instead.” Hanzo chattered proudly. Jack found himself very much missing the old Hanzo who hadn't chattered or even spoken much about anything at all.

“Jesse Jesse Jesse!” He roared, finally losing his temper. He considered a victory it had taken this long. He’d been cooped up on base while Talon were outside running round unchecked. They’d probably taken over half the world already. Reaper was probably sitting on a throne of children’s bones drinking orphan’s blood from a hollowed out skull right now and Jack was here. Babysitting.

He stalked over to the brat, towering over the pipsqueak’s head as he glared him down. “If you like Jesse so much why don’t you go bother him?”

Hanzo’s face darkened as his temper flared. “Maybe I will.” He snarled, sliding off the bed and storming out the door, hurtling off into the corridor towards the sharpshooter’s quarters.

Jack sighed, waiting for the child to leave the room before he carefully placed the photo back in its place. He skimmed fingers over the glass pane, stopping on a toothy grin set against sun-kissed coffee tan skin. “God Gabe,” He muttered, crumpling onto the mattress. He moaned, resting his head in his hands. “Where did it all go wrong?”

…

“It’s just for a little while- please let me in Hanny.” Jesse pleaded, jiggling the door handle that once again remained firmly locked. He knew he could quite easily just break the damn thing down and yeah okay, he’d probably enjoying rushing a door down like they did in all the movies, but one, Hanzo would probably not react very well to that (not very well at all) and two, Winston would skin him alive if he started breaking anything on-base. And McCree didn’t want to stake his life on whether or not he could outrun a very, very angry gorilla. So the door remained firmly standing. And locked.

“No!” Hanzo’s muffled voice floated from behind the door, along with a series of hiccups and sobs. Aw shit, the kid was crying.

Jesse had known Hanny wasn’t going to take the news well. The kid threw what he called a hissy and the rest of the team called catatonic meltdown if he wasn’t within sight every five seconds, so when Angela had told him she’d had an idea on why the thingymajig (he knew it had some fancy schmancy actual name but that was sixteen syllables too long so thingymajig it was) had stuck Hanzo as the tiny little ball of terror he was (huzzah) but that he’d need to pack for a week long trip out to Lijiang (huzzoo), the first thing that’d come to mind was, aw shit, who’s the poor soul that’s gonna have to look after Hanzo? The second was; fuck, what do I tell him?

Jesse had decided the truth. Like he’d told the archer, you shouldn’t tell lies. And Jesse McCree was a lot of things (sharpshooter, dashing scoundrel, Mickey's Shots Champion of '77, thief of everything you own including the kitchen sink) but he wasn’t a liar. At least not until he was trying to cheat his way out of a bad situation or conning his way into a bit of cheap booze. And nothing was cheaper than free.

So he’d sat down and told the kid that he’d be off base a couple of days.

And Hanzo hadn’t taken the news very well.

Unless you classed ‘taking it well’ as running off and barricading himself in Jesse’s bathroom for the past two hours. In which case he couldn't have taken it better.

“C’mon Hanny, please,” Jesse wheedled for the seventieth time. “This is for your own good, Angie thinks she found a lead on how to turn ya big again.”

“You are abandoning me!” Hanzo screamed from inside. His voice had a tad of an echo to it and Jesse could only guess he must’ve locked the door then curled up in the bathtub. His heart broke a little at the thought.

“I ain’t abandoning ya! I promise I’ll be back soon!”

“You are!” Hanzo’s screech tore at his heart, and Jesse was inches from just breaking the door down and gathering the kid up in his arms – angry space gorillas be damned. “You are abandoning me! I hate you! I hate you!”

Unable to take any more, Jesse’s heart finally threw in the towel and totally shattered, his insides turning to ice at the words. He hoped Hanzo didn’t really mean them but it was all too easy to remember his interactions with the archer regular-sized. They’d never been close, only ever shared one conversation – if you could count bashing each other’s taste in booze as conversation. Maybe the kid really did hate him. He took one last mournful look at the door that still refused to open then turned away, intentionally stomping his feet and making a big deal of gathering his things.

“Well okay kiddo, I’ll just go off now, and I’m guessing you don’t want to say g’bye, being behind there n’all.”

He let the sentence hang, a wistful sigh soft on his lips. He kept moving round his room, bundling spare clothes and rolls of ammunition into a small travelling case.

He smiled when the hiccups and sobs cut off, mentally counting to ten. He knew kids (at least, he knew how to get a sulking Genji out of his room and the pizza loving, kool-aid chugging, hyperactive ninja-cyborg was basically just one giant man-baby). Did he feel bad for manipulating Hanzo into coming out? Naw, not even a little.

He’d reached five when he heard the click of the lock being disengaged. A quick glance towards the door showed the handle slowly turning. He gave a small  _oomph_ , dropping the stack of shirts he’d been carrying as Hanzo hurtled out of the bathroom and into his legs.

“I’m sorry I do not really hate you Jesse.” Hanzo sobbed, burying his teary face deeper into Jesse’s thighs.

Jesse smiled down at the boy, one hand clapping firmly around a shoulder and pulling the trembling form closer to him, the other resting on the top of Hanzo’s head. “It’s okay kiddo, I knew you didn’t mean it.”

“Where you are going, it’s not dangerous is it?” Hanzo snuffled through his tears.

“Naw, it’s nothing dangerous, all this is just a precaution.” He wasn’t lying per se. Angela had told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to go looking for trouble and if he did his entire stock of bourbon was forfeit. The doctor had stressed she was only sending him because it was supposedly ‘safe’. The area had been scouted and declared Talon-free pre his arrival. Despite this Jesse had been in the business long enough to have the word in inverted commas.

He felt a wave of guilt as Hanzo lifted his head and met his eyes, one tiny hand reaching and fisting the fabric of his trousers, silently begging him not to go. He huffed, realising it was the kid’s turn to manipulate him. “But I can get Hana to hook up a webcam if you’d like.” He added gruffly.

“A webcam?”  _Adorable,_ Jesse thought to himself as Hanzo’s nose wrinkled.  _It makes him look like a kitten about to sneeze._ Jesse didn’t laugh. He figured Hanzo, little H and big H, would both have a fit if they ever found out anyone thought them ‘cute.’

“What is that?”

Jesse chuckled, one hand fondly ruffling the boy’s hair. “It means you still hafta see my ugly mug every day.”

Hanzo’s eyes widened until they were impossibly large. Seriously, it should be biologically impossible to have eyes that big. They were bright and sparkly. Like a puppy’s. A goddamn puppy’s.

“I do not think your mug is ugly,” Hanzo announced solemnly, so small and yet so serious. It was adorable, too adorable for words and Jesse knew he was making that stupid goofy face people do whenever they look at children doing something cute.   _Shucks,_ he groaned,  _he’s got us all wrapped round his little pinkie._

 _“_ But yes, I would like this webcam.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to Hana about it before I go.”

Hanzo’s hands surrendered Jesse’s trousers, rubbing the wetness from his eyes. “Thank you.”

Jesse’s throat tightened, another wave of guilt crashing down. “You be good while I’m away.” He choked out thickly, feeling a couple litres of waterworks of his own coming on. “But not too good, gotta keep em on their toes.”

Hanzo’s head bobbed. “I will try, and Jesse…” Hanzo paused, his little fingers suddenly fidgeting as he struggled for words. “You are not allowed to die.”

Jesse offered a dog-eared grin. “I’ll try.”

…

He watched Hanzo’s tiny face become even tinier, staying at the window until the base was just a speck. Only when the ground had totally disappeared did he finally turn and make his way to the seats, slumping into the nearest with a mournful huff. Saying goodbye had been harder than he ever thought possible, Hanny had clung onto his waist for a full ten minutes before Genji had finally managed to extract the archer off him. Jesse had left before he could become a sobbing mess, feeling a slice of pity for Genji who had been elected the kid’s temporary carer at a vote 7 to 1.

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe this would be good for the two brothers. Finally allow them to put aside their differences. Maybe this wouldn’t all totally blow up in their faces. He laughed hollowly. Fat chance in that. In their lives everything always went horribly horribly wrong.

Which was why it came as no surprise when it did exactly just that.


	7. When Everything That Can Go Wrong Does Go Wrong

**When Everything That Can Go Wrong Does Go Wrong**

 

McCree had always been able to pinpoint the exact moment a situation went downhill. Jack called it dumb luck but Genji lovingly referred to it as his Shit Sense. A stray bullet popping off on his flank, a worried summons from Angie to the Med bay at 3a inhumane hour m or a sudden surprise briefing scheduled by Winston. All of them usually meant the world was deep in 3 layers of horse shit and he’d been called in to scoop the poop. Sometimes it was intuition. This time it was the ceiling exploding. Barely five seconds later and like The Weather Girls had predicted it was raining men. Literally.

Maybe, Jesse thought hopefully as hundreds of ropes dropped, their ends pooling on the floor as the entire membership of Black Leather Fetish United swarmed down them, just maybe they were here for something that wasn’t him.

One of the goons lifted an arm and pointed dead at him. The grunt next to them yelled something that sounded an awful lot like “Die” or maybe the standard issue SWAT style helmet on their head was muffling their words and they’d really shouted “Hi!”

He really hoped it was the helmet.

The mob raised their guns.

McCree cursed and ran for cover.  

Fast forward two and a half minutes and he was crouched behind the reception desk, growling out profanities as he exchanged ammunition with the forty or so Talon goons who had decided Jesse’s time off was a great time for them to drop in. He hurriedly reloaded; jamming as many bullets as he could into Peacekeeper's cylinder as fast as he could before bobbing his head out into the chaos in the world’s most dangerous game of hide and seek. In his defence he hadn’t been looking for trouble. He’d been minding his own business, keeping himself to himself and checking into the next hotel on his list that was – the receptionist assured him – Talon free. _Had been_ Talon free because it sure wasn't now. Maybe he was cursed. Maybe it was karma for calling Jack Grampa too many times. Maybe he’d been an asshole in a previous life and the universe was only now taking it out on him. Whatever the case, McCree didn’t need a Shit Sense to tell him what had just hit the fan.

Three new bullet shells scattered at his feet, three more grunts down.

“Ya’ll really need some shooting practice!” he yelled as the fourth fell dead.

Apparently they didn't take too kindly to that and he yelped, throwing himself back behind the desk, chunks of the wall behind him crumbling as the storm of gunshots renewed with a vengeance. He paused to catch his breath, fingering the new hole punched through the brim of his hat mournfully. He peeped out, just long enough to return the favour to the Talon agent’s face before the fresh hail of fire had his head disappearing back down his hideyhole faster than a bunny just got a whiff of bloodhound. Goons and bullets kept coming so he kept springing, bounding up and crashing back down in his very own version of Whac-a-Cowboy.

Six bodies dropped as his wrists exploded into motion, time seeming to slow down as he took aim and fired. Slowly but surely he was working through their numbers, but for every enemy that fell another two just swarmed back into their place.

“Such a big party for lil old me? I’m touched!” He shouted into the bullet fire, chest heaving as he fought for breath. He crammed his back further into the wood, raising his eyes to what was left of the ceiling and praying the small army that’d been sent didn’t have anything more impressive than the peashooters they were currently peppering the woodwork with. Like anti-desk flamethrowers. Or grenades.

The desk may still have been recognisable but the rest of the room hadn’t been so lucky. The pretty little settees dotted round looked like they’d gotten into it with a hole puncher, their plush navy cushions holier than a slice of swiss cheese. The windows were shattered, the decorative vases previously on display were in pieces and the lobby’s impressive chandelier he’d been admiring in the minutes leading up to the attack hadn’t quite made it; the intricate halo of crystals daintily hung from the dome like stars in the sky was now one surviving large lump of matter and lots of other, much smaller lumps of shrapnel strewn across the room. A damn shame but on the bright side the resolution of a blatant health and safety hazard. Something that big, that high and that glassy was just begging for trouble. Hopefully they’d learn their lesson and on the rebuild just go with a plain old lightswitch.  

His ears were assaulted to a screech as a Talon goon sprinted forwards – right onto a chandelier shard. Jesse could sympathise, he’d been unfortunate enough to burst blindly into the room the day Lena had introduced Hanzo to Lego. He winced, remembering extracting the pieces from his foot’s swollen underside.

He didn’t have time to offer his condolences though, as the window on his left – the only one remaining even remotely intact – finally threw in the towel and crumbled under the weight of a new blast that cleft a gash clean through it and the rest of the wall it’d been clinging on. Within moments a fresh herd of Talon goons were stampeding through the hole.

Jesse swore, emptying the last of his bullets into their frontline. He eyed the door, knowing he’d have to run or be overrun. Another explosion rocked the building – another group of grunts swarming through the hole like ants to a sandwich – and Jesse seized the opportunity, taking advantage of the confusion the blast had left and dashing across the room, swerving to dodge nothing extreme just y’know, sixty fucking thousand bullets, unapologetically ramming the heads of the guys in charge of the exits off his knees before ploughing through what had been left of the front door. He muttered all kinds of cusses to Talon and whoever the bastard had been that’d hired so many of them, wrenching his gaze left and right then legging it down the least suspicious looking street. He only hoped Genji and Hanzo were having more fun than he was.

…

**Day Four of McCree Off-Base**

Genji was not having fun.

He had not been having fun, nor had he been having any fun for the last three days, when the entire base had decided that he was to be in charge of his older brother. The same older brother who had tried to murder him on their family’s orders. He sighed. In the past. That was in the past and he was not going to hold it against a clueless child. That would be petty.

Genji had never had less fun in his entire life. Except for that time he had almost been killed. Mutilated past recognition and left for dead sprawling in a puddle of three quarters of his body’s entire blood count. You know, by the same person who was sat across from him now, arms folded and glaring darkly from beneath frowning brows in their owners perma-sulk phase.

Not that he held a grudge. That would be petty.

To his dismay Hanzo had exhausted the pile of colouring books, paint by numbers and dot to dots Angela had provided within less than an hour of receiving them. He had no idea what to do with a brother who didn't even know two sixths of his life and worse, McCree still wasn’t answering the webcam. Either that or the thing was broken; try as he might to call Jesse the screen would only show static. He’d already tried Jack’s advice of switching the thing on then off again and Hana would probably tear his face off – or what was left of it anyway (not that he was holding a grudge) – if he interrupted her livestream.

He had seen the Korean turn feral only once before; when one of Winston’s experiments had blown out all the base’s power and resulted in the loss of some seven hours of one of her save files. The gamer’s subsequent rampage had gone down in legend and many a ghost story had been told on a darkened night detailing what the mech pilot would do should you ever cause her wifi to lag ever since. If given the option of being in a locked room with a rabid wolverine and a locked room with a tilted Hana Song Genji would happily take his chances with the wolverine.

“I’m sure he’s just busy at the moment.“ Genji soothed, attempting to placate his brother. Apparently not doing a very good job of it – Hanzo looked about ready to explode at any moment. “We will try again later.”

Hanzo stomped his foot. “I don’t want later. I want to talk to Jesse _now_.” He whined petulantly.

They’d been having the same argument (not argument, Hanzo didn’t argue, he demanded while his opponent struggled to say no for  however long they could resist the power of his puppy eyes until finally giving in) for the last twenty minutes. Ever since Jesse had missed the first voicecall. And the second. And the third. And the sixteenth after that.

His friend better have a good reason for why he was not answering, because if he did not Genji would be leaving him in a room gagged and tied up for Jack. He sent a silent curse up to wherever the gunslinger was, trying the webcam once more then stomped over to his drawers, rifling through their contents for a moment before fishing out the burner cell phone McCree had gifted him. The one to contact in case of emergency. Or if they ever lost each other while out drinking.

Grim-faced, he punched in a text, deciding if Jesse didn’t pick up then he really was going to give the agent’s bedroom key code to Morrison.

_Shenron: Where are you?_

A minute passed, a full sixty seconds of Hanzo glowering bloody death straight at him on the edge of explosion. Genji nearly drowned in relief when the phone buzzed, signalling McCree's reply.

_Jesse James: Now’s not a gd time_

_Shenron: Hanzo wants to talk_

_Jesse James: Litl Bsy rn_

_Shenron: Hanzo really wants to talk to you_

_Jesse James: Can’t_

_Shenron: He is asking for you. What should I do?_

_Jesse James: Show him Power Rangers_

_Shenron: I am not showing him Power Rangers_

_Shenron: Jesse?_

_Shenron: Jesse?_

_Shenron: If you do not respond I am setting fire to your bed_

_Shenron: I am serious_

_Shenron: I am standing over the mattress with a match right now_

Genji sighed, leaving the phone on the top of his drawers when it became obvious Jesse was not going to answer.

“I want to talk to Jesse.” Hanzo repeated, stomping his foot again. “I want to talk to him **now.** ”

“Jesse cannot talk right now,” Genji explained nervously. “He is very busy.”

Hanzo’s tiny face slowly turned purple, his cheeks bulging as his mouth opened, drawing in breath as if about to scream-

“But Jesse did have something to suggest.” Genji amended hurriedly.

With more than an air of desperation and as a total last ditch effort he thrust the DVD into the television set and parked a squirming Hanzo in front of the screen. Praying to the Gods Jesse wasn’t being an asshole for once in his life, Genji jammed play.

…

“I see you are enjoying this.” He commented dryly, smiling a little at his brother. After the first fifteen minutes Hanzo had moved from where he’d previously been reluctantly perched on the edge of the couch, and now he was sat on the carpet less than a metre from the machine, knees drawn up to his chest and head rested on top, eyes rapt with attention as he stared, slack-jawed at the screen.

“It is satisfactory. Although immature nonsense I will admit parts are entertaining. It passes time, nothing more.” Hanzo grumbled, his eyes never leaving the screen, his head even leaning to the left, fighting to see past as Genji stepped in front of the set.

“I see.” He murmured carefully. “Well I’m sure we can always find something more adult to watch.”

“No!”

He chuckled as his brother threw away all appearances and finally shouted, panic spreading across his features at the threatened loss of program.

“A few more episodes then, but soon we must stop for dinner.”

Hanzo whined protests and the unfairness of it all but eventually gave in, shooting the television – now switched off – one last, mournful gaze as Genji dragged him away. He sat quietly at the table, even allowing Genji to serve him seven carrots, two more than the usual five, Jesse and his failure to answer the webcam forgotten.

…

**Day Five of McCree off Base (Three Days Before Jesse Comes Back)**

“Put it on.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“…Please?”

“No.”

Genji sighed as the endless begging resumed.

The end had come. Hanzo had found his Green Ranger suit.

…

**Day Six of McCree off Base (Two Days Before Jesse Comes Back)**

“It is just a bath,” Genji tried desperately to keep the despair out of his voice. “Please undress and get in the tub.”

Standing on the bathmat in nothing but a thin towel, Hanzo screwed his nose up. “This is just water,” he grumbled with a poisonous sneer.

“That is what a bath is! Water, warm water that you bathe your body in!” Genji almost shouted, nearly pulling his hair out in frustration.

Hanzo took one last disgusted look at the offending contents of the tub. He turned away, locking eyes with Genji. “Jesse makes it bubble.”

“Jesse isn’t here.” Genji muttered wearily, the response now mechanic.

“No bubbles, no bath.” Hanzo jutted his chin defiantly out. Genji knew that look. It was the one that his brother had always taken whenever he’d decided to make a stand and nothing short of a worldwide Armageddon would get him to budge even an inch.  

“Brother, get in the bath.” He repeated.

Hanzo slowly crossed his arms. “I refuse.”

Genji’s voice dropped dangerously low. “Get in the bath or I will make you get in the bath.”

Hanzo’s hackles rose, the hair on his arms standing on edge like a threatened tomcat about to attack. Genji moved to grab him at the same time he bolted for the door.

…

Genji sadly eyed the shredded remains of shower curtain. The whole of the bathroom looked like a bomb had been dropped on it. The shelves had been cleared, the previously neatly stacked bottles of lotions and gel now flung haphazardly and oozing their contents over the tiles. Half the water that had been in the tub had somehow found its way onto the floor, the walls, the ceiling (pretty much anywhere except where it was supposed to be). Angela was going to kill him. And then bring him back to life. And then kill him again.

“Was it worth it?” He asked quietly.

“You tell me.”

The child in his arms hissed, twisting as he plunked another dollop of shampoo into their hair, rubbing it into a foamy lather before lifting the surviving corpse of the showerhead over their head.

At some point – somewhere between Hanzo climbing up the curtain to get away and leaping off it to make again for the door – he’d fallen into the tub, but rather than being disgruntled or angry he’d fully embraced his unexpected swim, taking the chance to snag a hand around an ankle and dragging his brother into the water with him.

 “There.” He announced, “All done.” He loosened his grip, body rising out of the water to take the fluffy towel that he’d left on the bath’s edge.

“About time.” Hanzo grumbled. “I thought that torture would never end.”

“No brother! Not that way!” Genji shouted, reaching a hand to grab the child but it was too late; Hanzo squirmed out of his arms, scaling the tub walls and with a scream of freedom, sprinted out the door and down the hallway. The towel that Genji had only just managed to wrap loosely around the six year old before he’d made his great escape was unable to cling on any longer and dropped from the child’s hips.

Genji noted with horror that his brother had turned left. Left towards Soldier 76’s quarters.

…

Jack sighed in content, leaning back into the nest of fluffed pillows as he flipped the page of the book he’d curled up with over. He looked up, nearly choking on his morning coffee as a red-faced Hanzo ran past his door, screaming, soaking wet and entirely nude.

…

**Day Seven of Jesse off-base (One Day Before Jesse Comes Back)**

It had started like any other day. Genji had awoken, fetched Hanzo and fed his brother buttered slabs of toast for breakfast before parking him in front of the television. Winston had walled himself up in his lab tinkering away on possible solutions, Angela was running tests in the med bay, Jack had cooped himself up in his room and Lena, Lucio and Hana were all cosied up on the couch, each seeing who could be the sneakiest at taking photos of the six year old before he took notice.

In the last couple of days Hanzo’s interests had shifted from all things western to all things robot; he stared in awe at Genji’s prosthetics, occasionally asking to touch a leg or arm. The reverent touches and wondrous looks stolen from across the room were a sharp one eighty from the mournful, mostly guilty glances he had received from the other Hanzo. The bubble of happiness only grew as Genji realised Hanzo was still proudly referring to him as “brother”. This Hanzo's face burst into a wide grin rather than collapsing in despair, a near permanent smile plastered his mouth and he was almost constantly bounding up and hurling his small hands around Genji's waist rather than slinking down the corridor pretending to go unseen as his older self had done.

Even now Hanzo was smiling, his small frame tearing around the room, both hands firmly holding the oversized visor of Genji’s helmet over his face as he leapt from sofa to sofa.

Genji felt warmth pool in his belly at the sight. He was in the middle of making a mental note to ask Lena for the photo evidence later when the base’s alarms went off.

Protective instincts kicked in and went into overdrive as he stepped into Hanzo’s path, easing the helmet off his brother’s head and back onto his own. He knelt, stooping to the boy’s eye level. “Stay with Hana and Lucio. They will keep you safe.” He commanded then turned to the three who were frozen on the couch. “Please, take him to my room, hide under the bed or in the closet, just do not be seen.”

Hanzo made to protest but he quietened at the tone in Genji’s voice, glaring, but staying otherwise silent as Hana scooped him up into her arms and flanked by Lucio, rushed out of the door.

Genji’s gaze returned to the room’s sole other occupant who was, he noted with a sense of pride, already pulling twin pulse pistols from the holsters on each of her hips. “Lena I will hold the front, but if I fail I ask you, do not let anyone past.”

The brit nodded fiercely, saluting before disappearing in a flash of blue with a quickly yelled “Gottit love!”

Genji slowly slid his blade from its sheath on his back, the thrill of his dragon’s spirit burning through his body like fire in his veins. This was his home, these people his family. He would protect this place with his life.

…

“Oooooh,” Sombra squealed as she threw her arms around his neck and wrapped her heels to his sides. Genji had rounded the corner and found himself face to face all three of the best of Talons worst. He had dashed Widowmaker, slamming her temporarily stunned against the wall, cut Reaper’s wraith body clean in half to piece back together and made to round on Sombra, the only one still standing, when the hacker had charged forward on her own accord, purple glove a blur of air typing, and leapt onto his back. Genji had made to buck her off but he found to his horror that his body refused to move, the limbs instead seizing up. His legs moved of another’s accord, their actions entirely alien.

“Look Gabe,” Sombra exclaimed happily. “This place has free piggy back rides!”

“ **Sombra**.” Reaper hissed. **“Remember what we came for.”**

“Sheesh Gabe, just have some fun for once.”

Genji still couldn’t see – his vision yet another piece Sombra had robbed him of along with his honour and dignity – but he had the feeling that the hacker was rolling her eyes.  

“Enough squabbling.” Widowmaker, apparently recovered from her closeup with the wall, seethed from his left. Somehow the sniper still managed to make the soft murmur of her voice carry an unspoken death threat. “Let us get what we came for and go. Or do both of you wish for all of Overwatch to come down on our heads?”

**“Let them come. They will fail.”**

Sombra made a cough that sounded a lot like a strangled laugh. “Wow gramps, could you get any edgier?”

“ **Do not speak to me like that girl. I am the shadow in the night, the scream in your throat, the last sight you will ever see as your heart takes its final beat-“**

Sombra groaned loudly. “Can you even hear yourself right now?”

“Sombra shut up. Gabriel you are edgy, accept it. Now can we please keep to the plan?”

For a supposedly emotionless assassin Widowmaker sounded extremely pissed off.

“Ugh, you two are such grumps.” Sombra complained, clicking her tongue and spurring her heels further into Genji's sides. "Hi-ho Silver!"

Again Genji found himself stumbling forward, Sombra’s weight still heavy on his back as her talons dug to squeeze around his neck.

It was with a sense of dread that he found himself halting a second time, the near silent sound of Hellfires and sniper rifle being simultaneously raised deafening in his ears. He prayed that Lena might be able to blip away before she too fell foul to the bitch strapped to his back but his horror grew, robbing him of any breath he had left as rather than the Brit’s cheerful chatter he heard instead _Hanzo_.

“Unhand my brother foul wench!” Hanzo shrieked. The slight crack in his voice broke Genji's heart. Because it told him his brother was absolutely terrified.

Genji heard the patter of feet rushing across the floor, the snarl of his brother as he leapt, shortly followed by a hiss of annoyance from Reaper, the clunk of something heavy connecting with what sounded worryingly like bone and the sharp crash of a body falling to the ground.

Genji screamed though his mouth remained clamped shut, the sound of his brother dropping like a puppet with its strings cut echoing, his mind unable to think of anything but the image of that head of downy raven locks cleft open and surrounding it a halo of crimson blood. Now more than ever he wished he could still see; he would trade anything, he would give up control of his own body to the hacker and live the rest of his life as nothing but a disembodied voice swimming about his own head for a second, just one second of sight. Just long enough to know whether Hanzo was alive.

“Wow Gabe, savage much?” Sombra muttered flatly.

“ **The brat was about to bite me.”** Reaper explained in bored tones.

Panic pounded in Genji’s ears, bile building in his throat as his closed lids began to prickle in the tell-tale sting of tears. Hanzo must have slipped away from Hana and Lucio in the chaos and come searching for him.

 **“What the fuck though.”** Reaper continued, the squeak of floorboard and moan of fabric all Genji knew of the villain stepping forward and pushing his brother’s body onto its side awkwardly with a toe. **“Jack's running a daycare centre now?”**

Sombra giggled, leaning forward over Genji’s head to better see. “He looks kind of like that archer, you know the one who shot you in the ass last week at that hold in Numbani Gabe.”

“ **He did not shoot me in the ass.”** Reaper growled.

“Oh right. It was the coccyx, my b.” Sombra corrected, still laughing behind a hand.

“Sombra.” Widowmaker started warningly. “But you are right, there is a resemblance to the man, oui.”

“Maybe it’s a spell?” Sombra suggested. “What?!” She shouted defensively. Genji could almost hear the sceptical eyebrow raises as both Reaper and Widow turned to look at her like she’d just gone crazy.

“ **Magic isn’t real.”**  

“You cannot be serious!” Sombra cried, sounding personally insulted. “We live in a world of flying doctors, ninja robots and talking animals. You’re telling me you’ve watched us all come back from the dead, seen a a real life kamehameha and been torn to pieces countless times by three see-through dragons - mythical beings that by all right shouldn't even exist - and you still don’t believe in magic?”

“…Stranger things have happened.” Widow at last agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

“ **Spell or no spell,** **what do we do with it?”**

“ _Him.”_ Sombra corrected. “You can’t call kids it, Gabe. And I say we keep him.”

Genji almost forgot his situation and the three Talon agents he was trapped with, not caring about anything because Sombra wanted to keep Hanzo and that meant his brother was alive.  Relief sharply twisted to fury though, as he realised the bitch was talking about his brother as if trying to convince the others to adopt a housecat.

“It’s not part of the plan.” Widowmaker stated with an air of distaste.

“Him, chica. _Him._ And screw the plan, we never follow half of them anyway. Just look at those rosy lips and puffy cheeks, don’t you just want to-”

“ **Strangle him?** ” Reaper suggested hopefully.

“Place a bullet between his eyes?” Widowmaker finished smoothly. 

“Dios mio I work with monsters.” Sombra muttered, half to herself before brightening. “Well why don’t we take him? Kids are always good for a ransom.”

“Sta….y ….aw…ay…fr…om…m.y…br…ot…her…you….bitch…” Genji’s mouth finally worked enough for him to rasp. With excruciating effort he managed to twitch one finger than another, slowly regaining control of one hand – though that would be enough to choke the life from the bitch who was so casually suggesting kidnapping.

Sombra laughed, finally sliding off his back. “Oh horsey, you’ve been awake this entire time?”

 **“Sombra.”** Reaper rumbled angrily.

Genji had almost cracked one entire eye open now, the eye just wide enough to see Hanzo’s body slumped at Reaper’s feet, a sizable welt blooming on his skull. Reaper must have knocked his brother out with the butt end of a shotgun, Genji realised. That had been the crunch he’d heard.

**“You said he was hacked.”**

Genji squirmed, begging his legs to move as the purple-haired bitch began tinkering with the plates on his chest.

 **“** Hahahaha oopsies, I must have missed a switch-“ The hacker paused before crowing in triumph. “Lights out tin man.”

Genji made to lunge for her throat but could only silently scream as his body shut down, the arm that he had worked so hard to regain slumping dead at his side. He tried to take a step forward but his world turned black, his mind shutting down as all control slipping away. His last thought was a desperate plea for his brother, before Sombra’s grating giggles cut off short and he sank, howling, into oblivion.

 

**…**

Angela was the first to greet him; the unofficial mother’s bear of the team floated over, welcoming him back by way of bone-crushing hug. Jesse gagged, pretty sure he’d just broken a rib. “Easy on there Ange, I rather like breathing.”

The medic smiled. “It is good to have you back Jesse.”

“I know, I’d have missed me too.” Jesse chuckled, gulping in air as Angie finally let go.

Angela giggled lightly. “How was your visit? Did you find out any reason for what has happened to Hanzo?”

Jesse’s face soured. “No such luck.” He broke away from the doc, eyes eagerly scanning the group gathered. It seemed like all of the base had grouped up outside the front door, all except for Hanzo. “Where is the tiny terror anyway? Woulda thought he’d of showed up by now.”

Angela’s smile disappeared. Hana and Lucio squeezed Lena’s hands; the spiky-haired brunette looked about to cry. Winston shifted his weight uneasily.

“About that…” Genji trailed off, shooting a glare over his shoulder as Jack coughed awkwardly into a fist. He took a deep breath, guiltily meeting Jesse’s eyes. “Hanzo has been abducted by Talon.”


	8. Save Your Teammate

**Save Your Teammate**

 

To say Jesse was pissed was the understatement of the fucking century. Lijang had been a total bust; after the hotel lobby incident he’d spent his time slumming it on the streets and ducking and running from more hired Talon goons. Angela’s ‘lead’ had been a dead end - literally. He’d arrived ten minutes early to the lab to find a corridor full of two day old corpses and all computer databases long cleared out. Sombra wasn’t even in the room and McCree still wanted to strangle the bitch.

One twenty vs one shoot out and Orca ride spent stitching his arm back together later and he was just about ready to collapse onto the couch with a mug of Irish Joe and his favourite de-aged thirty eight year old. Of course that didn’t happen. He arrived back on base to a sea of paperwork and sad faces. And instead of a steaming cup of boozed up coffee, blanket burritos and movie marathon with Hanny in the off-time team lounge, Jesse had been subjected to a cracked glass of water, bandages and Genji’s stage by stage account of the archer’s abduction in the conference room.

It had been three days - three days of sleepless nights, lost appetites and finding his peace in the bottom of a bottle - before Athena had even found so much as a whiff of the AWOL archer.

Jesse looked awkwardly at the building, then down to the co-ordinates messily scrawled on his wrist then back up again to the building in front of him.

“Not saying you’re wrong Lena, but you sure this is the right place?”

Lena nodded. “According to intel Widowmaker was seen entering last night.”

“Well okay then…” Jesse scratched the back of his head. He’d been expecting having to crawl under barbed wire fences, duck past armed perimeter guards and attack dogs and sneak around the fifty hundred of so prison-style searchlights all leading up to the typical evil super villain fortress looming intimidatingly in the distance. He hadn’t been expecting to just walk onto a lawn and up to the door without even so much as an anti-aircraft missile launcher popping out of the ground.

Yet here they were, infiltrating what appeared to be an everyday block of south city side flats.

“Guess budget cuts have been hard on us all.” He muttered beneath his breath.

Jack’s hand waved the go ahead to enter and he followed the group in through the front door. There were only six of them in total and even then Winston had been reluctant to send so many. Since it was 100% definite that all of them weren’t so much walking into a frying pan but serving themselves up on the table all prepped and pre-seasoned. Jesse was only here because he’d made everyone on base’s life Hell until they finally said yes and let him. Turns out not everyone appreciated the masterpiece that was Foster & Llyod’s Texas in 1880. At least, not when it was blasted at full volume on loop at 4 in the morning. Jack was brought along because trying to stop the soldier from coming along to anything Reaper related was like trying to yank a chew toy out of the jaws of a rabid dog. Lena because they needed a pilot to get them there, Genji because he’d refused to sit and wait while his brother was suffering and Angela because none of them were disillusioned enough to think that they wouldn’t need a medic immediately on the scene.

Jesse glanced up at the spiral of stairs, groaning. It just had to be at the top and the lift just had to be broken. He glared in envy as Lena blipped forward, materialising a second later on the set of stairs above his head. The damn cheater.

“This is weird. Like really weird.” McCcree stated the obvious, head swinging from side to side, still expecting fifty thousand Talon nutjobs to come bursting out the door he was walking past. “Athena said it’s all legal. Taxes and rent and everything.”

Which was why it had taken so long to find. They’d had to wait for a civilian report, and Jesse really hoped it wasn’t a prank call, but Widowmaker didn’t exactly seem the like the kind of woman who carried grocery shopping bags home at 7pm.

“Maybe even Talon are scared of pissing off the IRS?” Lena called down cheerily before blinking up to the next floor.

Jesse chuckled as the mental image of Reaper in full costume impatiently tapping his foot in line at the bank popped into his head. Angela gave her own giggle as she passed him, wings fluttering gently as she floated gracefully over each step. He groaned. Now that was just unfair.

“I pity the landlord.” Genji murmured. His tone was light but there was a tenseness in his shoulders that told Jesse just how worried he was. His steps that were normally careful and measured now moved with an urgent purpose and his fingers were a permanent fixture on his blade’s handle.

They were on the last set of stairs when they heard it. The tiny enraged cry.

“Release me at once foul villain!’

Jesse’s heart twisted. Hanzo. Maybe not safe, maybe not unharmed, but definitely alive. And very, very angry.

He didn’t give a damn about the plan; all Jack’s carefully laid intricacies got thrown out the window the moment he heard the kid cry. Lena had used up all her jumps on the steps, her accelerator flashing a dull blue as it cooled down. He bounded forward like hell itself was on his heels and passed her easily. His once complaining muscles were silent as adrenaline surged through his veins, fuelled by the anger; both at Talon and his own failure to protect the boy. He knew he hadn't been there and couldn't have done anything, but that didn't stop the nagging feeling in the back of his head that none of this would be happening if he'd never left the base.

His breath was harsh in his throat, his knees were screaming protest and he was sure there weren’t supposed to be two Angela Zieglers staring at him in concern but that still didn’t stop him from charging the front door shoulder first, busting it down with a satisfying crunch as wood splintered beneath metal. That done he didn’t waste his time catching his breath, just sprinted straight for the sound of the voices floating down the hall.

“ **Never! I have you right where I want you**.”

Reaper. Reaper was hurting his kid. Jesse saw red. If Reyes had touched one hair on Hanzo’s head then he wasn’t going to stop shooting until there wasn’t a body left to reanimate.

“Have some mercy Gabe, he’s just a kid.”

“Oui, this is cold Gabriel. Even for tu.”

Jesse ran faster, his heart leaping into his mouth as he realised that they’d arrived only just in time, moments before Reaper was about to do something truly, horrendously horrible. So awful that even his colleagues were disgusted. And what the fuck was bad enough that even those two were calling too much? Don’t answer, he doesn’t want to know. Don’t ask questions. Don’t waste time. Just get in there and save his boy.

“DON’T WORRY HANNY, JESSE’S HERE!” Jesse screamed, kicking the next door down and bursting through, Lena, Jack, Angela and Genji all tumbling through into a pile after him.

“Get the hell away from him you monsters!” Jesse screeched, Peacekeeper pointed dead at Reaper’s chest. He blinked in confusion, staring awkwardly at the scene in front of him.

Reaper, Sombra and Widowmaker, the three deadliest, most dangerous agents of Talon were gathered around a round table, a snarling Hanzo trapped between them. A box of torture instruments was laid out at the table’s centre, containing something so horrific even Sombra and Widow’s faces were twisted in disgust. Hanzo’s small body was wracked in tremors and his mouth was red around the edges with dried blood. Only Reaper looked happy, the sick bastard leaning forward with some kind of twisted anticipation.

McCree paused, Peacekeeper quivering in his grip. No, not torture instruments, the box was-

“Is that…Mousetrap?” Lena asked, her voice strangled as she picked herself out from the heap of Overwatch agents.

“Boosch!” Reaper crowed, whooping as the plastic cage slammed down on the tiny green mouse. “I win again!” The killer stopped, eyes widening behind the mask as hr noticed his new audience. He coughed awkwardly into a clawed hand. “ **I mean, of course I win. This game is for babies. Who’d want to play this game. For babies.** ”

Hanzo scowled, his face dark. “You obviously cheated. I demand a rematch.”

“How could he have?” Sombra muttered bitterly. She snatched her own counter - the furthest behind everyone else’s - off the board, flicking it disdainfully back into the box. “Stupid grandpa games.”

Widowmaker sighed something that sounded suspiciously like exasperation. Jesse shivered as she locked eyes with him and smiled. Yeesh, talk about creepy. “Finally, someone who will shut these two up.”

“Uh-“ Jesse stammered, his jaw flapping up and down but no words coming out.

“Enough with the history lessons. Let’s play something fun.” Sombra whined, continuing as if six of their worst enemies hadn’t just burst into her sitting room and pointed their entire inventory at her head.

“Uh-“ Jesse mumbled unintelligibly. It seemed he still hadn’t recovered any memory of the English dictionary.

“We are not playing Mario Kart.” Reaper grumbled, sounding completely normal for someone pointing a gun at his head. Then again, the guy was a total prick, it wasn’t that hard of a leap to believe this was an everyday occurrence for the asshole.

“But we haven’t played it in ages.” Sombra complained sullenly. She gave a fond look towards the television in the corner, the screen fractured slightly on the edges. The size of crack was suspiciously similar to the shape of a games controller.

Reaper threw her a hateful look. “That’s because you always hack the system.”

“And drive us off the road.” Widow added with a grimace.

“And invert our controls and rig the cubes and divert the tracks and always always always-“

“Pick Rainbow Road.” The two chorused together.

“Rainbow Road?” Genji gasped - the big geek seemingly completely forgotten that he was talking to the three assholes who had kidnapped his brother for three days. “You monster!’

“ENOUGH!” Jesse roared, remembering to speak once more. “Have you all forgotten why we’re here? And you, mister tiny little traitor,” he turned and directed Hanzo with his dirtiest look. “Why didn’t you try and run away from them?”

Hanzo shrugged. “I did. But then they offered this wondrous thing called pizza.”

And now that Jesse looked properly the red around Hanzo’s mouth that he’d at first glance taken for blood did look suspiciously like tomato pizza base sauce.

“You’ve been playing games and eating pizza all this time?” Jesse choked out, his gaze swinging disbelievingly back and forth between the four.

“Pretty much.” Sombra grinned, showing off teeth that would give a great white dental envy. “You’ve got a real demon there. We may be evil but we’re not pineapple on pizza evil.”

Beside her Reaper shuddered. “Those monsters are the worst kind of worst kind.”

Jack made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like he’d swallowed a dying cat. It was the first sound Jesse had heard him make since entering the room. Reaper made the exact drowning cat noise as he finally noticed the former strike commander.

“…Jack.”

“…Gabe.”

Sombra groaned, dragging her nails loudly down her face as the two coldly acknowledged the other’s existence.

Jack shifted his weight while Reaper even looked, dare Jesse say it, uncomfortable?

“How’ve you, uh, been?” Jack tried awkwardly.

“ **Dead.”** Reaper responded flatly.

Jack looked as if someone had just kicked his dead puppy. Jesse would have felt sad for the guy, if he didn’t think the ex-commander was a total douche.

“”Er right, well lovely to see you all but we’ll just be taking Hanny off your hands-“ Jesse interrupted before the two could erupt into their usual catfight.

He mentally peeled himself off the ceiling as Sombra whooped, punching the air. “I told you it was the archer! You owe me fifty bucks Gabe!”

“-And be on our way.” He finished, inching past the villains to the six year old sat between them. “Come on kiddo,” Jesse whispered, one hand settling on Hanzo’s neck, guiding him out of his chair and steering him towards the door.

Sombra’s smile turned feral. “Like I’d just let you leave.” She snarled, disappearing in a shower of plum static and re-appearing…right in front of the door. The rescuers froze before recovering and quickly scrambling for their weapons. Jesse inwardly cursed as he levelled Peacekeeper at the new target, fingers itching over the trigger.

“Without giving your Aunty Sombra a kiss!” She finished far too brightly.

Jesse gawked, Peacekeeper forgotten, as the hacker crouched down and threw her arms wide open. His eyes boggled, bulging in their sockets as Hanzo slipped out from his legs, and ran into the woman who swept him expertly up into the air. She giggled, mushing their noses together with a playful “boop!”

Purple talons gripped the child’s bottom, jostling him around before balancing him on one hip.

“Come on now kiddo, don’t be shy!” Sombra laughed, offering her cheek. Hanzo obliged, shyly leaning up and planting a sloppy wet kiss against her skin.

“Remember what Aunty taught you, chiquito.” Sombra whispered conspiratorially, a mischievous smile curled on her lips as she patted Hanzo’s head. “Now go say goodbye to Aunty Up Herself and Uncle Frowny Face.”

Jesse’s eyes had bulged before but now he was sure they were five seconds from popping out of their place and rolling onto the carpet. He watched, slack jawed and silenced, as Hanzo climbed down out of Sombra’s arms and trotted over to Reaper and pulling on the edge of the dark cloak. Jesse could only watch - too frozen in horror to do anything, waiting for the Hellfires to be drawn and Hanzo’s brain matter splatter the walls as the new wallpaper. He thought his jaw dropped all the way to China when Reaper stared at the kid, gruffing out a sigh and knelt - extremely slowly - down to the boy’s eye level.

“Goodbye Unc’ Reyes.” Hanzo muttered with a bit of an adorable lisp that Jesse called total bullshit because he’d heard the kid speak perfect fluent English that would make even Shakespeare shit his pants.

“Cya round brat.” Reaper rumbled and behind the mask Jesse swore he saw a goddam smile - the closest he’d ever seen to happiness (or any emotion other than murder) on his ex commander’s face since everything went to shit in Venice. Reyes looked distinctively uncomfortable as Jesse’s eyebrows flew into the next stratosphere, his disbelieving gurgle loud enough for all to hear - though no one was more shocked than Jack (who Jesse was sure actually died - again - for ten seconds before coming back - again) when the big bad baddie didn’t begin grievously mutilating everyone in a ten mile radius when Hanzo stretched onto his tiptoes and pecked the owl mask’s side.

That done Hanzo turned to Widow who hadn’t moved from her spot at the table this entire time, instead sitting and staring at the group like a spider observing flies buzzing round its web. It was unnerving to say the least. Reaper stood back up, his hand floating awkwardly in the space above Jesse’s shoulder before the wraith sighed and patted the kid awkwardly on the back. Hanzo gave a pleased hum – the manipulative fucker – and scrambled over to the disgusted assassin.

Widow took one look into the bright puppy eyes and melted. She made it twenty seconds of stoic indifference before a hand was cupping Hanzo’s cheek lightly, the beginnings of affection in her eyes as Hanzo’s fingers curled over her own, something akin to reverence in his own gaze.

“That shot, the one when I first got out of the ropes, you promised you’d teach it to me.” He muttered, awe loud in his voice. His lips formed a pout, his fingers still holding the sniper’s hand against his face. It had taken three days and Hanzo already had the worst of the worst absolute putty in his hands. The brat really was the devil.

Widow’s eyes lit up and her mouth blossomed into a proper smile. It was extremely freaky, the last time he’d seen the assassin so happy she’d been just about to murder Angela after cornering them all up against a wall in Ilios. “I suppose I did. You will have to come round again then.”

“Uh-huh I don’t know much about the usual way to raise a kid but I’m pretty sure not letting em hang about with murderers and assassins is top of the rules list.” Jesse sniped, striding over and yanking Hanzo away from said murderers and assassins before he could protest. “Come on kid, it’s definitely past your bedtime.”

“Can I see them again Jesse?” Hanzo begged, squirming against his grip. “Please?”

And dammit if Jesse hadn’t always been a sucker for that look. He’s pretty sure that’s how the Shimadas were going to take over the world; forget all the gang wars and drug fights, just park their six year old scion outside all the important government embassies and have the boy go pretty please I want total domination.

“No Hanny. They’re dangerous. You are not seeing them again.” He said firmly.

Tears started to fill in the corners of Hanzo’s eyes. That was a new trick and Jesse was pretty sure he knew exactly who’d taught him it. He shot a glare at Aunty Sombra who smiled innocently and gave a cheery wave back.

He turned and shot a pleading look towards the rest of his group. Fat loud of help they’d been so far. Genji took one eyeful of teary faced baby brother and shut his mouth. Jack was still staring dead straight on Reaper. Lena puffed her cheeks and whistled, hands shoved in her pockets and looking away to the side and Angela had a sudden need to evaluate the lighting fixtures.

“You’re all useless.” Jesse growled. “The whole fuckin lot of yer.”

“Same time next week then?” Sombra’s smile widened. “Don’t worry, this time we’ll knock.”

“And if we say no?” Jesse asked. He glowered as she smirked, one hand flipping him off before she turned and blew Hanzo a kiss.

“Then we won’t ask nicely.” Her eyes flashed dangerously and Jesse didn’t need to ask to know that not asking nicely would mean a whole lot of bullets to the face and one very expensive hospital bill.

“Guess it’s a date then.” He muttered reluctantly, shooting one last glare at his team who were still being uncharacteristically quiet.

“See you soon chiquito.” Sombra fondly ruffled Hanzo’s hair as Jesse hurriedly snatched him into his arms and carried him past, practically sprinting out the door and down the hall.

“Try not to die.” Reaper muttered in what Jesse supposed was his most heartfelt goodbye.

“Au revoir mon petit ami.” Widow called, her voice a quiet murmur as the front door closed behind them. Jesse audibly sighed in relief when they finally escaped the cramped apartment.

“Well that was, different, than expected.” He muttered. Hanzo’s head bobbed sleepily in agreement, his eyes half-lidded and fighting to stay open. His mouth opened in an adorable kitten yawn, his body seeming to snuggle deeper into Jesse’s arms.

“Come on bucko.” Jesse grinned, working hard to suppress an aaaw as Hanzo finally gave into exhaustion, the tiny hands curled around his neck dropping lightly to the boy’s chest as sleep took. “Let’s get you back home.”


End file.
